Blood Work: To Hell And Back
by James Elrick
Summary: A revamped version of the original Blood Work with alot of new content. Vincent McNeil wakes up in the nightmare known as Carcer City, and is forced to play Starkweather's sick game in this side story to Manhunt. R&R please.
1. Disclaimer & Update History

TITLE: Blood Work: To Hell And Back

WRITTEN BY: James Elrick

STARTED: June 19, 2007

FINISHED: -

AUTHOR'S NOTE

This fan fiction is based on Rockstar's Manhunt series. I do not own the rights to Manhunt, nor am I affiliated any way with Rockstar.

This fan fiction is rated M for extreme foul language, intense violence that may be considered brutal, sadistic, and/or cruel, and strong sexual content. This fan fiction is not intended for everyone.

Finally, please review.

IN CASE YOU ARE INTERESTED:

As of this time, I hold the distinction of being the first writer of Manhunt fan fiction. If someone perhaps wrote before me, I haven't seen your work and I'm sorry for claiming that title. I wrote Blood Work back in November 2003, shortly after the original game came out.

If you are familiar with my work, you know that I am a fairly lazy writer, who at times can take months, even years to post up a chapter that some might consider half assed. I fully admit this, so no worries. However, sometime in 2005, my writing style had changed from semi-script style to full blown novel style. I also began to reread some of my older works, Blood Work included, and realized who dissatisfied I was with them presently. I don't plan on doing anything with Metal Gear Zeal, since the way it was written kind of adds to its humor. However, with Blood Work as my first step into serious writing, I decided I'd rewrite it.

But as I've stated, I'm a fairly lazy author. I've yet to get started on the project, and I've constantly gotten side tracked. From the fact that I still haven't finished Blood Work 2, to the fact that I gave MGZ2 a half assed ending, to the fact that I'm stuck with Salvation In Paradise. Add the fact that I've presently started three separate Cleaner stories and I haven't finished any of them adds to my problem... It seemed I wouldn't be able to get around to this project at the way things were going.

But then, a light came from the darkness. That light was Manhunt 2. Specifically, today's news of Manhunt 2 in the fact that it was rated AO. That got me thinking what could possible make Manhunt 2 crueler than the first game... And it started up my creative process once again...

So, I now bring to you a rewritten version of Blood Work, entitled Blood Work: To Hell and Back. It will contain elements of the original Blood Work, along with elements of Blood Work 2. I plan to make it longer than the first story, and if I'm lucky, better than the first. Though I'm scraping Blood Work 2 and combing parts of it into this new story, I shall leave up the original Blood Work since it will always hold a special place in my heart, along with the concept of my fans (all two of you) comparing the two stories. I do hope you enjoy this fan fiction. I'll do my best to ensure that the story will be finished sometime this year. If not, I apologize... Enjoy, and review...

UPDATE HISTORY

(Note- I've started this section of the fanfiction as of 7/28/2008 to keep myself and others updated in the status of this story. Specifically, this allows readers to know if I have re-written a previous chapter and uploaded it.)

7/28/2008- Re-wrote the Prologue and Chapter 1, uploaded them accordingly.


	2. Prologue

Prologue

Thursday, April the 7th, 1994...

6:54 PM...

"Breaking news: Twenty-one cast and crew members working on the new Lionel Starkweather motion picture have died in a-"

"-other news, twenty-one men and women were killed yesterday in what authorities were calling 'Gross Negligence'. Repor-"

"-ources from the set tell us that Mr. Starkweather was pushing the cast and crew too hard, and an accident was bound to happen. No one, however, could have been able to predict how devisita-"

"GOD DAMNIT!"

The man raised his small pistol and fired two shots into the TV set. Tossing his pistol to his side in a fit of rage, he stood up and stormed out of the room.

"Fuck! Goddamnit, I'm fucking ruined!"

Friday, September the 26th, 2003

1:07 AM

Running harder and faster than he ever thought possible, his mind raced with thoughts of where he could be. The mall was dark and grimy, like a sewer. Everything that was metallic was covered in red rust, and the floor was littered with broken glass and other garbage, which of course was probably one of the many reasons for the malls foul odor. One could suppose that it was normal for a mall that had been abandoned some years ago to look like this. Though, it wouldn't explain why there were dismembered body parts strewn about the mall, and crazed lunatic men running around with various instruments of death. There was only one logical explanation: he was in hell.

Gregory Pope was a twenty-seven year old con artist who happened to be in serious financial problems. It got to the point where local mobsters had carved up his face because he was taking too long to pay. So when a "friend", and he'd use that term lightly, mentioned that if he participated in a little "game", he would receive fifty grand, enough to pay back the loan sharks and slowly help him get back on his feet. How bad could it be? Sure enough, he found out moments after waking up.

Pain struck him in his left side. The source was a shopping cart coming from some jewelry store, the force of which sent him over the balcony of the second floor. In a moment of fear and stupidity, he thought of how real the physics were. This thought, of course, was immediately replaced with a new, horrible, unimaginable pain. The kind of pain that comes from breaking your leg and hitting your head on a metallic trash can, cutting his forehead open.

_This... This can't be happening... _He thought. _No... not happening... Never... why me... what did I do? Why am I, of all people, here?_

Drool began to slowly drip from his mouth, mixing with his blood. Perhaps due to the horrific images, perhaps because he was going into shock, he began to spew forth gibberish and insanity, utterly convinced he had died and gone to hell.

"How did I die? Why did I die? I thought I was...good... so good... mamma told me so... yeah... that's right... she did, didn't she? That was pleasant... heh-heh...nothing seems... nothing... no more... darkness arriving... hello...

Minutes later, a group of large men wielding knives and hand axes surrounded him, seizing up their prey. Before they had a chance to act, a gunshot cracked near the broken escalator, causing them to, momentarily of course, forget about the babbling man in the fetal position. The origin of the gunshot was from a large man wearing all black: wife-beater undershirt, military issue cargo pants, boots, and fingerless gloves. His face was obscured by a white hockey mask. The trio obviously knew who he was, for their faces began to fill with fear and the three of them ran off in separate directions.

The man walked over towards Mr. Pope and crouched down in front and cocked his head. Shrugging, he pointed his pistol, a Desert Eagle, at the man's head.

"You're a lucky man..." His voice was gruff, and his vocal cords had obviously been damaged from years of smoking cigarettes. "Starkweather personally requested this. Says he's got enough footage, and decided to be generous. Could have been a lot worse, bub..."

"Benjamin… That's... answer... All... Clear...All... Incom-"

The bullet pretty much tore the man's head to pieces, sending bits of bone, blood, and brain off in various directions.

The man in black stood up, brushed off some of the gore, and left the scene promptly before the lunatics got any ideas.

Sunday, October the 5th, 2003

3:02 AM.

_Fuck... Goddamn insomnia... And it's not like this broad is making it any easier... Goddamnit..._

Vincent McNeil was lying in his bed with a woman he had met earlier at a bar. One of the prettier girls he had met, somehow he managed to convince her to return to his apartment for a little fun. She managed to keep him occupied until she grew tired and fell asleep, but he was still restless. It had been over an hour since she called it quits, and he hadn't even gotten close to falling asleep. He wanted to get out of bed and do something, but couldn't. The slightest movement could wake her. Granted, the sex was great and he liked it about as much as the next guy, but after three hours of it, off and on, he somehow got the feeling he definitely wouldn't get any sleep if she woke up.

A faint buzzing sound emitted from the nightstand to his right. He glanced over and noticed it was his phone, and someone had sent him a text message. The message was brief and to the point: "Front door, with envelope."

_Well... At least I have my reason._

As he stood up, the woman gently rolled over and stroked his back.

"Vince... Come back to bed..." said the woman.

"Business before pleasure, babe."

Grabbing the jeans he wore earlier, he walked to the front door of his four room Los Santos apartment, putting his pants on in the process.

After reaching the front door, he rubbed his eyes and cracked his back. He opened the door and there was his friend and compatriot, Jimmy Booth, holding a manila envelope.

"Bloody hell, I'm freezing my bollocks off." Jimmy said.

"No shit. It's three in the fucking morning. Couldn't this have waited?"

"Waited? Boy, yer the one who said you wanted it, if I recall correctly, 'as soon as fuckin' possible.' Well, now's as soon as fuckin' possible, so I figured I'd swing by."

"Ahso... So what I asked for is in that?"

"Fuck yeah, mate. All ya need is right here in this envelope."

Jimmy tossed Vince the envelope, then pulled out a cigarette.

"Got a light?"

"What about you're lucky lighter?"

"Son, it's the middle of the night and cold as a witch's tit. Gimmie a Goddamned light."

Vince smirked, pulled out his lighter, and obliged his partner.

"When do ya plan on making yer move?" Jimmy asked.

"I was thinking about doing it in a week or two. Not sure yet. Soon, that's for damn sure. Seth and Lou were thinking around Halloween."

"Alright. I'll fuck 'round with me schedule to make sure I'm free 'round then. Jus' make sure to keep me in the loop, mano."

"Heh, don't worry about a thing. Last thing I'd do is leave you out. We need every reliable person we can get."

"Well if that's the case, why don't ya call Christian?"

"Christian doesn't do this shit anymore, Jimmy. Hasn't been doing it for a long time."

"Fuck... Alright... Well... I'll let ya get back to... Well... I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah. Later."

After shutting and locking the door, he headed back off the bed, making sure to toss the envelope on his desk.

"Who was that?" the woman asked.

"Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about..."

Vincent took his pants back off and crawled back into bed.

_Shit, nothing for me to worry about until at least tomorrow... Ah well... Maybe if I'm lucky she'll let me sleep... Doubt it..._

October the 21st, 2003

1:04 AM...

"Mr. Nasty..." Starkweather muttered, "...do you think my _fascination_ is abnormal?"

The Mr. Nasty, otherwise known as "the man in black", sat across from Lionel Starkweather, smoking a cigarette and looking over what was supposed to be the Holiday Valiant Video Enterprises catalogue. Not looking up from the booklet, he shrugged.

"Not at all, Lionel. Not at all."

"Even though I am..._attracted_ to it?"

"Everyone has their fetishes, Lionel. You're fine. Nothing to be ashamed of."

"You see, that's why I like you, Mr. Nasty. You understand me and my needs perfectly. I mean, even though it may be true that most people find the mysteries of death to be quite intriguing, that doesn't mean that one should be ashamed of being attracted to it. For every crimson spray escaping from some hapless chump's jugular, my own blood gets hot. Every final jerking movement of a body's nerves is a symphony to me; a tribute to the great beyond. The eroticism, the exotic nature of the un-life.

"Too much detail, Lionel."

"Slash and snuff films are masterpieces, like Van Gogh. Beauty, they say, is in the eye of the beholder, and should some see the beauty only in throats and heartbeats being stamped out, so be it then! This is art!

Snubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray, he finally looked up from his booklet.

"I know, Lionel. It's a shame the vast majority don't see it that way."

"You know, they actually tried to dispose of the footage from back then? You know, from the accident?"

"That would have been a waste, sir."

"Oh ho ho. Yes, it would have been quite a waste of good material. I ensured it didn't get destroyed, thankfully. In fact, I even have it locked away in my safe. Ever since then... Death has amazed me."

Starkweather's lips parted into a nearly malicious, some would even say twisted sort of grin.

"Oh ho... All of them paid the price in the end. Everyone who tried to destroy me has been buried. Ha-ha-ha."

"I know Lionel. You have a nasty habit of repeating yourself."

"I do?"

"Yes, you do."

"I see..."

_Fuck you, Mr. Nasty. I may respect you, and you may be a good friend of mine... But do __**NOT **__fuckin' push me!_

_Though, everything has been going so smoothly. Why should I care if Nasty becomes a slight bother? Carcer City is, quite frankly, the worst place in the good old United States of America. Without a shadow of a doubt, it's the perfect place for me to continue my research and film my masterpieces. A corrupt police force, streets overrun with criminals, buildings on the verge of being condemned, and a populace so accustomed to seeing gratuitous acts of gang-war violence that I would bet half of them honestly wouldn't care if they saw a man die right before them. It's the natural order of things._

"Lionel, you've never told me why you decided to contribute."

"Contribute? What an odd term... Well, snuff and slash may be an art, but there wasn't any sport to it. A woman tied to a chair and beaten to death. Small children suffocated with minimal violence. Firing squads, eviscerations, poison. None of that would suffice any longer. It was growing stagnant. Besides... I may have quite a bit stashed away from my older years, I could always use a source of income. Thankfully the gangs were the easiest part. Scum is so easy to find in the dregs of society."

"I see. Good to know, Lionel. Good to know."

Starkweather felt his pants constrict somewhat. A smile followed...

"Mr. Nasty... I think you should leave..."

Mr. Nasty sighed that contained a hint of disgust..

"That time again, huh? It never ends with you... Tell me when you're finished... We need to discuss the details on Mr. Cash's arrival..."

Standing up, Mr. Nasty walked to the door.

"Mr. Nasty."

Mr. Nasty turned around.

"Yes?"

"...Lets make this an event to remember. Something... unique..."

"...I'll see what I can do, Lionel. Let's not get too ambitious."

"No… I want to get ambitious... I want this to be a large scale event. We've always done a couple a night... Let's make it more than that."

"But Lionel... With Scarecrow gone, and Piggsy locked up... I'm just saying we have enough too worry about right now... I mean Cash alone will be complicated."

"I don't fucking care! I want this to be big. We'll talk about this tomorrow, shall we?"

"Making it an all nighter? Alright... I'll see you tomorrow..."

Mr. Nasty walked out of the room and shut the door.

_Yes... A large scale blood bath... I can't wait... I suppose this would easily explain my erection- anxiety, but entirely in a pleasing way._

A few minutes and some hand motions later, Mr. Starkweather felt superb.

_Goddamnit... I've gone and messed myself. I suppose I'll have to change my pants._

A less-than-sane sort of smile perpetually worked across his features, refusing to stop at anything short of commandeering his entire face as he stood and headed toward his private bathroom.

If it was physically possible to smile in a more blissful way, he had yet to figure it out. Several seconds later in the restroom, he sat down on the toilet to relive himself a second time...


	3. Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

ACT ONE: EARLY TO FALL

CHAPTER ONE: DEAL WITH THE DEVIL

Monday, November the 17th, 2003... 7:38 PM...

It was cold. Cold and dark. Add a splitting head ache and some back pain to the mix and you have a recipe for something awful.

Vincent McNeil sat up and tried to adjust his eyes to the light to no avail.. After standing up, he winced; something was wrong with his right shoulder, causing more pain to flow through him. He reached up and squeezed his right shoulder gently, wincing once again.

_Shit... Dislocated..._

Crouching down, Vincent began fumbling around in the dark, looking for anything suitable to brace against his teeth. After a few minutes of searching, he found a small piece of wood. It wasn't great, but it would do the job just fine. After placing the wood in his mouth, he stood up and walked over to the nearest wall. Without giving it much thought, he slammed his damaged shoulder into the wall, popping it back into place. With his teeth clenched, an animalistic roar filled the room as his body swelled with pain. Collapsing to the floor, he spit the wood out of his mouth and began to gasp for breath. By this times, his eyes had already adjusted to the light and he began to take in his surroundings.

The room was about nine feet by eight feet, with a ceiling teen feet from the ground. It was more like a cell if one was to compare it with anything. There was a large metal gurney in the center of the room which had supported Vincent during his "nap", and underneath it there was a small red tool box. To his left there was a window about eight feet off the ground and far to small to crawl through. At the very least, it gave him a glimpse of the skyline, showing the bright full moon and cloudy sky. Glancing to his right now he noticed a metallic door.

After coughing some, be used his left arm for support and stood up, making guttural grunts throughout the process. His body felt tense, so he pauses momentarily to crack his neck and back, which he soon realized wasn't quite a good idea, for more pain shot through his body.

_Deal with it._

Vincent slowly walked towards the door and noticed there wasn't a handle. He pressed the door and found that it was bolted shut.

_Shit..._

"Ah... I see our star has finally decided to wake up. Rise and shine, sweetie; we wouldn't want you to miss the bus. Ha-ha-ha."

Vincent spun around, half expecting to see someone standing behind him. The voice had a hint of a Scottish accent. Just a hint, and nothing more.

"Upper left corner, sunshine..." A slow sort of drawl, patronizing at the very least, seemed to follow the voice.

Vincent looked towards where the voice directed him and noticed there was small speaker nailed to the ceiling.

"Now, there is an ear bud underneath the gurney in the tool box. Pick it up, and place it in your ear. What I'll be saying to you from here on out is quite confidential, if you catch my drift."

Cautiously, Vincent walked towards the gurney and looked in the tool box. Sure enough, there was an ear bud along with a small, jagged glass shard with an end wrapped tightly in cloth. Placing the device in his ear, he looked back towards the speaker.

"There we go. That wasn't so hard, now was it? I trust you can hear me okay?"

"Where am I?"

"That doesn't matter, Vinnie boy. You don't mind me calling you that, right? What ma-"

"How the fuck do you know my name?!" Enraged, naturally.

"Ah, Vinchenzo... If I've taken the time to bring you here, I've obviously taken the time to get to know you a little better. Wouldn't that make sense?"

"It'd make about as much sense as waking up in butt fuck nowhere."

"Ha-ha, but you're not in 'butt fuck nowhere', my boy."

"Then where the hell am I?!"

"I'll get to that when the time comes. As of this moment, you're on... Oh, how shall I put this... Let's just call it borrowed time."

"Fuck you."

"Don't believe me, do you? Figures as much. Most don't. What's the last thing you remember?"

"Pain."

"Ah. So you just remember the feeling it left you... You see, you were on your way out of your apartment when some pigs arrived. They wanted to question you about a little 'job' you did a few days prior. You, naturally, fled the scene. You even knocked an old woman over and gave her a hip pointer. For shame, Vince. I thought your mother raised you better... Regardless, before things could get even remotely interesting, you were hit by a car. A sedan, if I'm not mistaken. You were unconscious when the pigs arrived, so they called an ambulance and you were brought to a local hospital. It's amazing you were in good condition, all things considering... Regardless, the hospital declared you D.O.A., and that's when I 'acquired' you."

"D.O.A.? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Vincent McNeil was declared legally dead at 8:35pm Friday night. It's amazing what one is able to buy."

"You son-of-a-bitch!"

"Calm down, Vincent."

"Why the fuck have you done this to me?!"

"If you'd calm down and stop asking questions, perhaps I'd be able to get a word in edge wise and tell you exactly WHY you are here. Just keep the following in mind: I am pulling all the strings and have all the cards. You're life is in my hands, and if you want to be able to go home, returning to your loved ones with a clean slate with a little extra on the side, then I suggest you do what I say and play by my rules. If you don't listen to me and follow my instructions to the letter, then... well... To put it bluntly, you won't last an hour in this hellhole. Oh, and you definitely don't want 'them' to hear you. That's why I gave you the ear bud. I suggest you keep your voice down and your temper from flaring. We wouldn't want anything happening to you, now would we?"

"Get to the fucking point, old man." By this point, his rage had somewhat quelled- or so he put on a good illusion of it. Forced control was indeed necessary in a situation like this. He had to figure out what was going on if he wanted to get out of this.

"Shut the fuck up and mind your manners and I'll tell you." This time the voice was curt at best, if not slightly impatient. "God, you're like a stubborn child. Perhaps it's best if I just show you, eh?"

A small buzz came from the door, unbolting the door. Cautiously, Vincent walked towards the door.

"Silly boy. You forgot your toy. Pick it up and step outside."

Vincent assumed the man was referring to the glass shard, and decided it would be wise to listen to him. He grabbed the glass shard from the box, slid it into his back pocket, and stepped outside into the cold, brisk night. Shivering slightly, he finally noticed his attire. Ripped urban cargo pants, a torn white shirt, and one plain black shoe.

_Perfect..._

"Good boy."

"Now who are you and where am I?"

"Fair enough. I suppose it's the least I could do... You may call me 'The Director', or preferably 'Mr. Director'. You see, you're one of my actors, thus you must be respectful, especially considering you're on the set... Carcer City."

"Carcer City?! How the hell did I end up in Carcer? I was in Los Santos! And what do you mean? Set?"

"You're dense, aren't you? I brought you here And this is where I'm filming my newest masterpiece. Well, masterpieces. I'm an ambitious fellow, you know."

Vincent smirked. "Oh, really. What's it called?" he asked sarcastically."

"I'll ignore your obvious sarcasm. It's called 'Early To Fall'. I think you'll enjoy this."

"Sounds like a trashy porno, if you ask me."

"Now, now Vinnie my boy... I have yet to make any sort of negative comment regarding you or you're... attire... Speaking of which, I guess we can take care of that soon, provided you don't fuck up. Regardless, be polite and respectful towards your director, or your night is going to get a lot worse."

"Where are the cameras then?"

"Everywhere."

"Let me guess... Just because I can't see them doesn't mean they aren't there?"

"Exactly. You're like a mind reader or something."

"So what? You got bored and decided to film a crappy, armature version of 'Candid Camera'. Sounds neat."

"Cute. But let's cut the crap, shall we Vincent? My patience wares thin."

"Alright. What do you wan-... Heh... NEED me to do?"

"To survive-"

"Survive? I don't follow."

Paying no attention to the interruption, The Director continued.

"-and to rack up a body count, preferably a huge one, using whatever means necessary. Cut a swath though the city, if you will."

"...the fuck do you mean?" Vincent had an idea of what The Director was going to say, which would explain the grave, horrified look that slowly began to seep it's way onto his face.

"Throughout this dump they call a City, there are hunters. They like to call themselves gangs, but that's being generous. They're too disorganized and psychotic to be real gangs. Pathetic, but at least they get the job done. Presently, you're in the territory of a gang that likes to call themselves 'The Hoodz'. They're a pathetic lot that enjoys wearing stockings over their heads. Anyways, they are looking for you and plan to kill you on site. They crave your blood. Don't worry, though. I'm here to help, and I'll do the best I can do to help you out by telling you what to do. In a sense, I'll be guiding you through each area, or scene... Just like a director, hence the name. Isn't that nice of me?"

"Fuck you."

"Your goal, aside from survival, is to kill as many of these low life pieces of shit as you can. They are filth! No better than the common piece of scum you'd find under a fucking rock! Cut 'em, beat 'em, ream 'em: rip them apart with your fucking bare hands if you have too! Beat their fucking heads into the goddamned, mother fucking pavement! And besides!"

The Director paused momentarily to breath a little, calming himself down.

"...and besides, with you taking them out that will make the scenes more entertaining, and grantee you're survival for the time being. We wouldn't want boring scenes, now would we?"

"Fuck you! I won't be apart of your fucking snuff films, you twisted asshole!"

"Oh, but you're going to be apart of them. You don't have a say in the matter."

"Oh really? What makes you think I am?"

"Well, you're here, for one... And as I said, they are after you. They want blood and are hunting you down to satisfy their craving. Once they find you, they'll try to kill you, and the only language they understand is violence. It's kill or be killed, dog eat dog, McNeil. That's the only way you'll survive tonight, assuming you want to survive."

"Goddamnit! Why me, huh?! Why the FUCK did you pick me?!"

"No reason in particular. The opportunity presented itself, you were in the right place at the right time, fate, bad karma. Take you're fucking pick. Regardless, you had a criminal record and you landed in a hospital that is under my influence. The doctors injected you with some heavy sedatives and sent you here to me. As I mentioned before, they declared you dead. You're a ghost, McNeil. In every sense of the word."

Vincent crouched down and placed his hands in his head.

"As redundant as this sounds, if you want to survive this and go back to your family and friends, you'll have to kill people. They are nasty folks, so it's not like they don't deserve it... Oh, and when I say kill... I mean I want you to kill them as brutally as possible. No Mickey Mouse bullshit. You get me?"

"FUCK YOU!"

"Keep you're goddamned voice down! You want to die that badly?! Christ... I could tell The Hoodz where you are if you want. That'd make it real easy for you satisfy your death wish."

Vincent looked up at the sky and began to rub his temples, suppressing his rage.

"There... I've let you calm down. I do hope you won't have any more tantrums tonight. I'd hate to have this wonderful night spoiled. But hey, look at the bright side, will you? At least you'll be able to act on some of that suppressed, inner rage. Get it out of your system."

"...Goddamnit... Alright... Where do I go from here?"

"That's my boy. Get up, and go down four blocks to your right."

And so he did...


	4. Chapter Two

ACT ONE: EARLY TO FALL

CHAPTER TWO: DOUBT IN A NIGHTMARE

7:54 PM...

Starkweather sat in his office, pleased at what he had accomplished.

_And to think... This is only a taste of things to come... Ha ha ha... You're a genius..._

It wasn't just the fact that he had the Carcer City Police Department on his payroll... It wasn't just the fact that so far, he had managed to rebuild his empire by doing what he loved best... No... It was this particular scenario that pleased him... And tomorrow would be even better.

Somehow, some way, he had successfully faked the deaths of over a dozen people and had them brought to this desolate wasteland for his perfect prologue... Once people got a taste of this, the unsure would be ordering more than anything he could ever imagine... And to think... This prologue was just a way to keep him entertained while he waited for his main guest to arrive...

_James Earl Cash... You sick fuck... How I can't wait to get my hands on you... Tomorrow will be fantastic._

_What's this? Well now... It seems that Mr. McNeil has finally found a playmate._

"Alright, kid. Just do as I say and you'll be fine... Sneak up behind the bastard and shank him with that glass shard of yours... You'll then get to play with his black jack, won't that be fun?"

"Shut up, asshole!"

"Temper, Vincent. Temper... Just relax... Ignore that feeling in your stomach... By the end of tonight, you won't feel a thing."

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of."

"Shut up! He heard you!"

Vincent dove behind a dumpster just as the masked gang member turned around. He peered into the darkness.

"I know you're there, you freak! I heard you. Stupid bastard."

The man slowly and gently smacked his hand with his black jack. The words "Death To The Heretics" was carved into it.

_Fuck... You've done it now, Vincent... This prick is gonna kill you and you're not going to be able to make it out of this nightmare alive... Stop breathing asshole! Be quiet!_

He could feel his heart beating rapidly. Every moment felt like a millennium. Sweat began to drip from his brow and past his eyes. Praying, he hoped that he wouldn't be found.

The man walked right past Vincent and stood there for a moment... Sighing, he gently stomped his foot on the ground.

"Damnit... I'm freezing my balls off out here. I wish he'd come my way... Man I want this kill..."

The man turned around and began walking back towards his post.

"Now's your chance," crackled the voice through his ear piece.

Vincent stood up and slowly walked towards the man in a crouched position.

"Fuck... I wonder if Lenny found anyone."

"Snuff him out!" The Director commanded.

Raising the glass shard, time seemed to stop.

_I'm about to kill a man just to be able to survive... God... Will I be able to live with myself? Fuck... I swear to God I'm going to-_

In the time he hesitated, the thug turned around and stared right at Vincent. The two looked at each other, completely speechless and dumbfounded. The thug snapped out of it and raised his club as he smiled through his fish net stocking.

_Oh fuck._

Vincent plunged the glass shard into the man's stomach causing him to groan in pain. Something warm and sticky soon covered Vincent's hands as he ripped the shard out and stabbed the man in the neck. His scream was cut short into a horrific noise of pain, blood, and struggling to breathe. Vincent ripped the shard out once more, and plunged it into the pack of the man's neck, sending him falling to the floor. Blood was everywhere, and the body twitched and twisted for a few moments.

Collapsing in exhaustion, began to suck in as much air as physically possible, as if there was some limited supply.

"Oh boy! That was beautiful! You'll turn make the slash world go crazy if you keep this shit up! Bravo, Vinchenzo! Bravo!"

Looking at his hands, he closed his eyes, hoping that this was some twisted dream that he would wake up from.

_This can't be real. I couldn't have done this... I wouldn't have done this..._

Opening his eyes, his face filled with distraught as reality finally sunk in...

_I murdered a man in cold blood..._

Looking at the body, he saw that it had some how twisted it self into a bizarre fetal position, and that short fall to the floor had knocked out one of the man's teeth. The black jack had rolled a few feet away.

"Go on... It's yours now... You've earned it..."

After wiping his hands off on the corpse's shirt, he stood up and picked up the black jack. It was fairly light, but he easily knew this weapons deadly potential.

"Tell me, McNeil... Have you ever killed anyone before tonight?"

"No... I work clean, and I've never had someone die."

"Oh ho, I'm honored, Vincent."

"And why is that?" A hint of agitation was in his voice.

"My boy, I helped pop your death cherry. This is a night to remember! Ha ha!"

"Fuck you, asshole!"

"All in good time, son. All in good time. I'll be frank... I set this guy up... There isn't anyone else in the area for about a block or two... I wanted to see how you'd perform, and my God... Did you perform... I'm getting goose bumps."

"Piss off."

"Now, as for your reward."

"I can leave?"

"Oh, heaven's no, Vincent! The night is still so young. There should be a duffel bag in that dumpster. Why don't you have a look?"

Cautiously, Vincent walked over to the dumpster and peered inside. Sure enough, a green duffel bag was neatly placed on top of the garbage.

"Open it up."

After pulling the bag out, he unzipped it and spilled its contents onto the floor.

Vincent smirked. "Thanks, I guess..."

He now had a pair of black tennis shoes, dark blue cargo pants, a brand new white t-shirt, a dark grey hoodie, and a cheap, digital watch.

"Couldn't have you catching a cold. That would totally ruin the night... Although, it would add to the tension, in more ways than one. Ha ha. Put that crap on, and get moving. You have a lot to do."

Glancing at the watch, he saw it was a few minutes past eight pm.

_He wasn't kidding when he said the night was still young... Shit..._

On the other side of town, two men seemed to be enjoying themselves a bit too much. They were Felix and Frank, two loose cannon wack jobs... Or that's what the police called them...

They had started inside a parking structure, and so far they had killed about over a dozen "Wardogs" in between them. The name didn't make sense, but they were easy targets. Military tactics, ha!

Felix had one more kill, but that was primarily because Frank was busy playing butcher with one unfortunate's face, which kept him occupied. Took concentration to peel off just the skin, without making too big a mess. Especially with only a crowbar to use.

Felix ripped his combat knife out of the throat of a gang member, wiped the blood off, and placed it back on his belt. Turning to his compatriot, he smiled.

"Anyways, as I was sayin': beaners were NOT, I repeat, NOT in God's original plan."

Frank, who was busy wiping a bit of eye ball of his crowbar looked up from his busy work with puzzlement.

"I do declare good sir, enlighten me further."

Felix and Frank always worked together. They were two peas in a pod, sharing the same interest: making other people's lives miserable, usually by killing them.

"The Spaniards came around- hate them too by the way, they smell odd- raped the bushnigger tribal women, then their half-breed children fucked some niggers which were brought over, and sure enough, berry pickers were born."

"But we can thank them for the delicious supply of oranges, may they never smell as bad their tenders. Then again, when you live in structures pieced together of mud and donkey shit, what can you expect. I dunno. Perhaps it's just me, but they owe those donkeys a lot." Some muttering involving donkey shows escaped just under his breath afterwards.

"I am proud to say I have never gone down in that god-forsaken area. Nor have I gone down on their god-forsaken women. Those spics, they lead fruity lives. Fruity lives, and fruity wives."

Both were arrested about two years ago. Somehow, Felix got life in prison, while Frank was to receive death by lethal injection. However, three weeks ago both of them were transferred here, wherever the fuck that was. It didn't matter: they both somehow managed to escape the justice system. At the time, they both thought of how silly the American justice system was. They said one thing, and did another. It now seemed they would be able to get off anything... Only 'cause the system was so damn rotten.

Felix stood at about 6'2", and looked young for his age. He wore a black trench coat with black boots to match. He clutched in his right hand a wooden baseball bat, which was stained with blood.

Frank however, ever the snappy dresser, wore a blue blazer with gold buttons, black slacks, and black dress shoes. He had black hair that was slicked back Sinatra style, and he grasped a crowbar in his right hand.

"Ah, well good for you. That place sucks like underage Vietnamese hookers when the sailors are on shore leave."

Felix: "I love Hitler!" Felix blurted this out, unexpected even by himself, yet in his mind the choice between Hitler and Elmo seemed quite clear.

"I'll drink to that!"

He didn't know why they were there, or how they managed to cheat the justice system, but it didn't matter...Right now they both were able to kill, and killing was perhaps the greatest pastime ever invented...

"GET DOWN!" Sally snapped.

Jon, as it seemed he always did, was doing his best attempts to con her into a sexual act. It didn't matter that he was handcuffed, and that as soon as she found a way out of this nightmare she'd make sure he go back in a cell for the rest of his damned life, he was doing everything in his power to make her feel as unpleasant as possible...

_Damnit... How could this have happened?_

Jon, who was now laying on his back behind a shelf, began to creep towards her. A small smile filled his face.

"Y'know hun," Jon said playfully, "you sure got a pretty fine ass considering you're an officer of the law. Ten-twenty four in the mall, we got an ass that needs to be set free. Callin' for immediate back-that-ass-up"

"Shut the fuck up!" She hissed, "Do you want them to find us?!"

"Well sure, sugarpants. Beats the shit out of waiting around like this... Less of course, you wanna get down, work-it a bit with myself."

Sally Douglass as a twenty-seven year old US Marshal, and was on what appeared to be a regular transfer. She, with the assistance of several other officers, had managed to track down Jon McReinheart, a wanted serial killer and rapist, down to Vice City after his successful escape from a county jail six months prior. They of course hadn't known McReinheart was the "Friendly Slasher", which was a stupid name to begin with.

The only reason why they even knew where he was going was due to the trail of bodies he left behind. In that six month period, he had managed to rape and murder another four women before taking up residence in Vice City. Thankfully, they got him just before he decided to start up again.

So, it seemed simple enough... She, and two other officers, was to drive him back to Liberty City where he would stand trial.

_Shit... What happened? Russell... Smith... God, please be safe._

"Baby, I'm horney! Come on!"

"Shut the fuck up! They will hear us!"

"Doll, what part of 'beats the shit out of waiting' didn't you catch? It'd be more entertaining watching you take down those big, strong men again."

"Fuck off, McReinheart."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Anger will get you nowhere, my sweat... Sex will get you anywhere, though."

"Piss off!"

Cocking the Glock as if she meant business, it managed to send a signal to McReinheart.

"Fine... Play hard to get... See if I care... Tramp..."

Thirty-one year old Edward Stanley was a quiet man, he always kept to himself. How he ended up in this mess was beyond him, but it didn't matter...What mattered was trying to get out of here alive in one piece.

Edward stood at 6'3", and weighed about 190lbs. He was very muscular, and generally shaggy in appearance. Back home in San Fierro, he was a plumber. However, he wasn't all that he seemed.

About ten years ago, he was accused of the rape of a minor. He was able to get out after two years from good behavior, as well as various loopholes. Few months later, he was accused of sexual assault. That time he managed to get off Scott-free, luckily for him. It didn't matter though...He was a convicted sex offender, and he couldn't find work. 'Course though, with a bit of moving around, he was able to successfully bury his past.

'Till recently, that is.

About a week ago he was approached by a group of men. They said they had information which connected him with to a series of sexual assault cases and a few murders, and that they would bring it to trial unless he went with them and did their boss a favor... Little did he know it would be surviving snuff.

_Damn... What have you done, Edward? Look at what you've done..._

Clutching the three-foot lead pipe in his right hand, he slowly walked through the streets. He had already run into two of the "gang members", and both of them had met with unfortunate "accidents".

The first fell out of a third story window, and hit the back of his head on a dumpster, snapping it. He would be paralyzed, and would die soon without medical attention. The other was simply bludgeoned to death, which would explain the massive amounts of bloodstains on Edward's tan overalls. The next guy he ran into would meet a similar fate, or perhaps worse...

Something about death put Edward at ease... In fact, though he desperately wanted to go home... Something about this place felt right... He had been to Carcer once or twice back when he was still a teenager, due to his dad working at the mills... But he had never gotten a chance to get a feel for the place... With all this death and violence... He felt... At home.

Carlos Garcia sat in the upper floor of the apartment building. He heard the man come in, but he didn't care. His orders were to remain there, and follow the gringo until he was ordered to strike.

So far this was his third set of films with Mr. Starkweather, and he liked it a lot. Sure, it wasn't as interesting as what he did before: go around the world, meet interesting people, and then kill them, but the pay beat the fuck out of the assassin life. It was also a hell of a lot safer.

At first he was shocked at what these guys would do when they were put in a life or death situation, but by the end of the first set of films he helped make, nothing seemed to bother him.

_Just another job..._

He stroked his suppressed USP. Good gun. Very reliable. He had used this gun on just about every hit he went on. It was his baby.

Something below him creaked and thudded, which would signify that the man had left the building. Standing, he cracked his back casually with a few twisting movements.

"Alright man...Lets go to work..."

Slowly, he walked towards the stairs heading downward. It didn't matter if the guy got too far ahead of him, he'd catch up. He always did. It was his job, of course.

In the junk yard a few miles away, Hiro Yamada was in the middle of a decent fight. The one thing he learned in before becoming a cop was to always stay one step ahead of your opponent, and that is exactly what he was doing.

Jab, jab, jab, jab, and a knee to the stomach caused the bigot with the make up to double over, wheezing. Hiro immediately did a round-house kick straight to his skull, knocking the man to the floor. Hiro picked up the man's nail gun, and fired off a few shots into the back of his head.

_Asshole._

Katsuhiro "Hiro" Yamada cracked his back, and patted down the man for any weapons or ammo.

_Damn..._

Hiro Yamada was a cop for Liberty City. In his early life, he had gotten mixed up with some rough crowds, but his parents soon fixed that. After graduating college, he decided it was his personal duty to fix up the streets of Liberty, so he chose the only profession that made sense to him. And he was good too.

Perhaps too good... He had been loaned out to the Carcer City Police Department to help investigate Lionel Starkweather and the links between him, and Police Chief Gary Schaeffer. Everyone knew the city was corrupt, yet not many people gave a damn one way or another.

There was a loud clang approximately fifty feet to his right, followed by some muffled angry voices. They'd be on him in a moment.

Hiro stood up and began to run towards the shadows...

_If I make it out of here, I swear to God you both are going down._


	5. Chapter Three

ACT ONE: EARLY TO FALL

CHAPTER THREE: SOULS OF THE LOST

8:27 PM...

His name was Gregory. He was raised in a fine Virginia home until his life was shattered at the tender age of twelve due to the death of his sole caretaker, his mother. He soon got into all kinds of problems: drugs, violence, sex, booze... the works. And very soon after that, he was recruited by The Hoods. He carried his favorite weapon with him, a crowbar.

He was wearing baggy blue jeans, and brown boots, and a blue denim jacket. Reaching into his left pocket, he drew out a brand new packet of Marlboro cigarettes, bought just for this occasion, and his lucky silver Zippo, with new flint and lighter fluid to boot. Sliding a smoke into his mouth, he smiled and flicked open the lighter with his thumb.

When he did hear the noise, it was too late. It came from directly behind him, thus causing him to turn around. However, he got about two degrees to the left when he felt the pain of the back end of a claw hammer puncturing through his skin and into the depths of the right side of his neck, then being ripped out again.

_Christmas. Mommy. First date. Grandpa. Night in jail._

As the thoughts rushed to his rapidly dying brain, he fell to the floor, gasping, cigarette falling from his mouth, the thing unlit and still pristine. Reaching up, he grabbed his fresh wound with his left hand. Knowing he was done for, but not fully understanding what was going on, he turned to greet his assailant.

Aaron Russell, age thirty five, swung the bloody claw portion of the hammer, gouging through his eye socket, shattering his skull, and finally stopping in the depths of his brain. Messy to say the least.

Russell wasn't pleased with having to resort to this... In fact, this went pretty much just about everything he stood for as an officer of the law... It didn't matter... Starkweather said kill any gang member he found, and if he survived, he'd earn his freedom... Praying for the night to end in his favor, he reached down and picked up the cigarette and lighter.

"Thanks, bub."

He picked up the rest of the pack, and lit the cigarette...

_Man... If someone were to see me right now, they'd obviously get the wrong impression... Heh... Ah well..._

Deep within the territory of the Smilies, Professor Robert Vallen stroked his temples, hoping the aspirin he found would kick in… It seemed as if it was past its expiration date, but it should have some slight effect... This was definitely not one of his better nights. Sure, he found a .44 Magnum, but that didn't help the fact his aim was poor, and he had no combat experience.

In fact, it was very unclear why he was even there...Perhaps as meat? Who knew. But for the forty-five year old professor and part time film critic, he knew that he had to find some way to get out of here...Perhaps find one of the other people this "director" mentioned, and have them assist in getting out of here...

A board creaked behind him, causing him to jump and his glasses to slide to the tip of his nose. Spinning around, he quickly raised the heavy gun, hard to aim gun. To his surprise, it was a woman. 

"Please! Don't shoot me!"

Lowering his gun slightly, he proceeded to walk towards the voice as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. She appeared from around the corner, and was shivering. She was wearing blue jeans and a white wife-beater. She had dirty blonde hair, like his, and was perhaps 5 inches shorter than his 6'0".

Vallen lowered his gun completely, and smiled with relief.

"Heh... You got lucky there. I thought you were one of those gang members..."

"I'm sorry to scare you," she squeaked, "Its just I saw you kill that man, and I thought you might be one of the good guys...Cause you didn't look like one of the others...So I followed you."

It was a messy sight...In fact, that was how he acquired this hand-cannon. After sneaking up on the man from behind, he struck him in the back of the head with a wooden plank he had found. He was simply trying to knock the man out, but to his misfortune, the man fell out the seven story window, landing face first into the pavement. Not a pleasant way to go.

"Well, I'm glad you found me. It's not safe out there. My name is Robert Vallen. What's yours?"

"Ashley Thompson. Pleased to meet you."

She stuck her hand out meekly, and he shook it accordingly.

"Do you happen to have any idea on what's going on?"

"Just that someone abducted several people, including you and me, brought us to his desolate city, and is filming us kill his goons, and his goons killing us."

"Oh my God... This can't be happening..."

"Hey now," he said soothingly "look at it this way. As bad as things are, at least we ran into each other... A group is better than going it alone, I always say. I can watch your back, and you can watch my back."

He smiled warmly at her, and she smiled back.

"Yeah, I guess your right."

_Awe, how cute... Love at first sight._

Carlos was perched on the roof of an apartment a few buildings away. His target was the man, but now that the woman had shown up, it would make the game that much more fun. Sure, the professor wasn't too much trouble, but orders were orders. Even if they were stupid ones.

Years ago, before Starkweather's falling out with Hollywood, Vallen had given one of his films a negative review. Soon after, when Starkweather began to go insane, he was convinced that Vallen was somehow apart of his exile.

Though, this would be tricky. Starkweather didn't want him to shoot Vallen. No, in fact he just wanted him tranquilized. So, he now held in his hands a PSG-1, with tranquilizer darts instead of actual bullets...When Starkweather ordered, he would shoot Mr. Vallen and take him to a porn theater in the Innocentz turf. Didn't matter to him, because as always, this was just a job... Just a simple, ordinary job.

A sharp pain filled his entire being 'causing him to spin around and drop his rifle. It was one of the Smiles wielding a screwdriver. Drawing his USP, he fired four shots into the man's chest, sending him falling from the roof top onto the ground below. He quickly looked back at the other building and saw that Vallen and the girl had proceeded to run down stairs, perhaps to investigate the gunshots.

_Shit... I have to think fast._

Carlos stood up, and proceeded to run downstairs. Blood leaked forth out of his wound, and his hand seemed to do little to stop it. As he exited the building, he saw that both the girl and Vallen were looking at the dead man in horror. Their attention then went towards Carlos, who, without the slightest hesitation, was already in Plan B mode.

"Fuck man!" Carlos moaned "The fuckin' bitch stabbed me! Fuckin' gringo!"

Vallen ran over to Carlos' side, and began to examine the wound.

"You're lucky. It doesn't look like it went in too deep."

_Good... The bastard bought it._

"Shit man, it really fuckin' hurts!"

"It will, and we need to patch you up. Ashley, tare some fabric from that man's clothing, and bring it to me. I'm gonna stop the bleeding."

_Hmm... So he's not an asshole... A shame... I really do hate killing nice fellows._

Jeremy Ekwueme stood up from his hiding spot and looked around the junkyard.

_Good... Those damn cracker bastards are gone... Fuckin' assholes..._

Holding the metal bat he had acquired earlier, he walked towards the trailer twenty feet in front of him. Earlier, a few of the Skinz had brought some food supplies and dumped them in the trailer. As hungry as he could ever be, he couldn't resist a free meal.

_Just a few moments inside, grab a bite to eat, and them I'm out of this dump._

Smiling pleasantly, Edward proceeded down the dark alleyway. Earlier, he had dispatched six more gang members, and he found a hardware store that looked ever so right. He took a gander inside and happened to find a nail gun. This was his lucky day, so do speak.

A noise came from just around the bend. Footsteps.

_Huh... Looks like I get to test out my new toy._

Another man wearing pantyhose over his head rounded the corner. Never in his life would he understand why people would wear pantyhose to try to cover their face. It doesn't work. All it did was make you look like a retard.

Edward stood up from a crouched position and whistled casually. The man spun around, but was greeted by a nail to the nose. Blood sprang from the man's face as he yelped in pain. Laughing casually, Edward kicked the crowbar the man was carrying away and hit him in the shoulder with his pipe. The man crashed to the floor, cowering in pain.

_Oh, now what do we have here?_

Grabbing the man by the color of his shirt, he dragged him over to a broken fence. He lifted the man's left hand up, and fired a nail into it so his hand and the fence would be nailed together. The man screamed in pain and attempted to struggle with Edward, but it was to no avail. A solid right hook it the man in the jaw, knocking one of the man's teeth out. However, due to the panty house, the tooth didn't get very far. After Edward lifted the man's right hand up, he continued to nail that hand to the fence. The man screamed louder.

"Don't go anywhere." said Edward casually. 

He walked over to the crowbar, picked it up, and walked back over to the screaming man. Positioning one leg so it was on top of the other, he then proceeded to use his large pipe to pound the crowbar into the man's legs. A pool was now forming beneath the man, and Edward casually laughed.

"How's it hanging, Jesus?" 

"Oh God! Please! Don't kill me! I needed the money! I'm sorry! Just please! Don't kill me!"

"Oh shut up!"

Edward's pipe struck the man in the side of the head, knocking him unconscious. 

Tilting his head slightly to the right, Edward began to admire his work. It wasn't every day one was able to just sit back, and take a good hard look at what you've done. Feeling no guilt and a tingle of joy, Edward pressed the nail gun to the man's left eye socket, and pulled the trigger. A sickening popping noise followed by some fluids seemed to drip slowly from the wounded eye. Moving the nail gun slight to the right, he pulled the trigger again popped the man's right eye.

"There... Perfect..."

Elsewhere, Hiro had taken out two more of the bigots. Killing was something one should never have to do, nor enjoy... But in this case, removing each of these racist murderers from existence wouldn't necessarily make him feel guilty. With only a few nails left, he felt it was necessary to but the gun away and save it incase he got pinned down. There was a small "cave" of junk to his left. Smirking, he walked in.

It was dark, and he could hardly see a foot in front of him, but the shadows would easily mask his appearance for the time being. He was tired. Anyone would be after what he'd been through.

One of the bigots happened to have a rather large combat knife. Though it would mean he'd have to get close from now on, at least he had some other means of defense. As he stretched, his foot tapped a small can on the floor. Bending over, he picked up the can and smiled.

_Aerosol... Perfect._

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled a golden Zippo he had gotten from his father back when he graduated the police academy.

_Shit... I hope I make it back._

His mind was else where, and due to his, he didn't notice a fat man with the words "FUCK OFF" tattooed across his chest and stomach. The man lit a cigarette, and the two noticed each other. Before the man could scream one of his anti-Japanese slurs and alert his buddies, Hiro flipped his lighter opened and sprayed the can in the direction of the man. Soon, the once shadowy area was filled with light as the once human was turned into a three-hundred pound fireball. Screaming with agony, he ran from the cave. Hiro stepped out and watched as the fat man tripped, and stumbled near a trailer's propane tank.

"...Oh you've got to be fucking kidding..."

The explosion knocked Hiro off his feet just in time, as a rather large piece of shrapnel sliced through another member of the Skinz, who moments earlier, was about to slit Hiro's throat. Quickly standing to his feet and making sure not to trip on the other body, Hiro ran from the scene as fast as he could.

_Goddamn you Starkweather!_

Meanwhile, Vincent turned as he saw a small fireball rise in the air a few miles away.

_Jesus. How the fuck is it that the Director can pull this shit off without getting caught when there are explosions... Shouldn't SOMEONE notice... Fuck..._

Luckily for Vincent, he hadn't run into any other "Hoods", though he had run across a couple of their corpses, and that gave him a sense of hope and despair. Hope in the sense that it could be that the director had others like him in this godforsaken nightmare of the city, and they could ban together, and take this prick down. Despair in the sense that it could just be a ruse from the Director, a trap... Or it could be worse... Gang warfare. He shuddered.

_That's the last thing I'd need... Two lunatic gangs tearing each other apart through the streets, with me caught in the crossfire... Fuck._

Something blunt hit him in the right shoulder and he fell to the ground hard.

_Fuck! I've done i-_

His thoughts were interrupted as his head slammed against the cold, slightly wet cement. A red-hot pain seared through his head, and he felt a small trickle of blood seep forth from the area where his head was formally introduced to the ground. 

"Make ONE wrong move, asshole, and you'll wish you were born a woman! I fucking swear it!" said a cool and commanding female voice. It had a slight edge of agitation to it.

"Just what I need... Some chick going around and attacking innocent bystanders. You on PMS or something? Shit, that's why your type would be bad at political stuff: once a month you'd find it necessary to cause World War III.

_May not be the smartest thing to do, agitating a woman who has the upper hand, but at this point, I don't give a da-_

His mind quickly wandered to the new pain. It seemed the woman didn't take kindly to insults, and would strike you in the mid-back if you annoyed her.

"Fuck you, dick head! Fuck you!"

"Geese, we just met and you already want to get into my pants. Fucking slut."

As he rubbed his back, the blunt object hit his arm.

"Goddamnit! Fine! I'll shut up!"

_This is getting old, real fast._


	6. Chapter Four

ACT ONE: EARLY TO FALL

CHAPTER FOUR: DARK INFERNO

8:47 PM...

Gabrielle Renau, or as she liked to be called Gab, heard the footsteps before she saw whoever it was.

_Shit. It's probably one of those perverted fucks wearing hoodies! Goddamnit!_

Before all this madness happened, she was a police detective working for a special group that was given the task of infiltrating the Carcer City police department, and get as much dirt on the corruption as possible. The main objective was to gather enough evidence to bring both Schaeffer and Starkweather to justice. Her assigned partner for the case was Hiro Yamada, a cop from Liberty. He was nice, handsome, but very perverted, contrary to the first impression he gave. But it wasn't the typical perverted acts. No... It was rather humorous, at times...

The two of them were to meet with a man who supposedly had enough evidence to bring them both down, and were told to meet him in a motel just outside of town... When they had arrived there, they were both jumped and drugged, only for her to wake up in a jail cell a few days later. Sure enough, Starkweather was directing her in one of his snuff films... She now had all the proof she needed to bring him down... If only she could escape this nightmare.

Clutching the bat she found twenty minutes earlier, she braced herself for what she was about to do. As he passed by, she swung the bat and hit the man in the right shoulder, causing him to fall to the floor, hard. Moments later, blood was slowly dripping from a cut on the man's forehead.

"Make ONE wrong move, asshole, and you'll wish you were born a woman! I fucking swear it!" said Gab in a commanding tone.

"Just what I need... Some chick going around and attacking innocent bystanders. You on PMS or something? Shit, that's why your type would be bad at political stuff: once a month you'd find it necessary to cause World War III." said the man as he grasped his head.

_You sexist pig!  
_

Jabbing the bat downward, she struck the man in the mid-back. He writhed with pain, and instantly reached his hand for his back to perhaps rub the pain away.

"Fuck you, dick head! Fuck you!"

"Geese, we just met and you already want to get into my pants. Fucking slut."

She jabbed the bat downward again, this time hitting the man in the arm.

"Goddamnit! Fine! I'll shut up!"

"You think you're real funny, don't you?! Now why don't you tell me where Starkweather is! Now!"

"Starkweather? Who the fuck is Starkweather?! And furthermore, why should I tell you a goddamned thing when you keep hitting me!"

"Asshole!"

The man squirmed as Gab kicked him in the ribs. Grunting, he stuck his hands up in the air.

"Fine! Truce! Can you stop attacking me already! Fucking hell!"

Gab: "You think you're real funny, don't you?! Now why don't you tell me what the FUCK is going on?!" 

Though keeping her guard up, she took a small step backwards.

"Can I stand up now?"

"Fine... But one wrong move, pal... And you're a fucking dead man..."

The man stood up and turned to face her while rubbing his injuries. He was fairly tall, standing at probably around six feet even. His hair was short and dark brown, and he had one dark blue eye, and one dark grey eye.

The man smirked. "I like your eyes."

_Is this guy fucking kidding me?_

"Go to hell, asshole."

"Don't you know what a compliment is? Shit, doesn't matter how good looking you are... Still doesn't change the fact that you have the personality of a bitch."

_That does it._

She swung the bat at the man, an-

The man caught the bat, and with a quick yank, it was out of her grasp.

_Oh fuck... He's going to rape and kill me... Oh fuck..._

"I thought we said truce? 'Cause that's getting really fucking old, and it's not very nice to hit people when they are commenting on your faults. Now who are you?"

"Officer Renau, and if you touch me, I swear to God my partner will make sure you get life!"

"Fuck... Just what I need. A fucking cop... Goddamnit... And further more, just 'because you meet a man in a dark alley like this doesn't mean he is a goddamned rapist. Most guys aren't like that."

"Sure... Now who are you?"

"Vincent McNeil."

"Well, Mr. McNeil... What do you know so far?"

"Some asshole has me, and I'm assuming you, locked in this place and is playing Battle Royale."

"Battle Royale?"

"Ugh... A book by a Japanese writer about a bunch of high school kids being taken to a scheduled island, and they are forced to kill each other over the span of a few days. They are forced to, because only one can survive... Now, I haven't heard anything specifically from this prick about killing non 'hunters', so I'm assuming that I don't have to..." 

"I see... You're right, it appears... The man's name is Lionel Starkweather."

"The film director?" 

"One in the same. He had a falling out with Hollywood several years ago, and moved out here to Carcer City. Since then, he somehow managed to reestablish his funds, and we don't know how. We've tried everything we possibly can to investigate this matter; however it doesn't help that this city's police department is rotten to the core. Hell, some even think this goes all the way to the mayor."

"Fuck... So no matter what we do, we're on our own?"

"Precisely."

"Shit... Alright... What are we going to do?"

Vincent handed her back the baseball bat, and he walked over and picked up what appeared to be a black jack with some form of carving on it.

"Survive, and bring this asshole to justice."

Back in the mall, Sally and Jon had managed to elude their pursuers for the time being. They both had managed to take down a couple of them, and they had found themselves a bar which they would temporarily use as a base of operations.

_Shit... I can't leave this guy for a second... But he's dead weight... I wouldn't dare trust him with a weapon... Goddamnit..._

"Babe," purred Jon "if I was hunting you down, I'd rape you. I'd rape you viciously, using my knife to slowly cut you as I did so." Eying her steadfast grip on the firearm as he spoke, but of course.

She smiled to humor him. "But you're not hunting me... Are you?"

"Aww, ain't that cute. It's like a five-year old asking what I did to mommy, and why the walls are painted so badly." A pause. "But once I'm through with the little one, who will ask about that? Couldn't fit into a baby, not like they can talk anyways..." His train of thought returned to motion, eyes snapping back to two of the police force's greatest assets. "Hm- oh, right. You gotta pay attention, shug. I said 'IF', key word there."

After she woke up about an hour ago, when there was a hint of daylight in the sky, she was disoriented at best. Wandering around, unsure of where she was, or what she was supposed to do, she thought perhaps that she had died and this is what the afterlife was like... But a commanding bark coming through an ear bud that she didn't notice snapped her back to reality. The voice wanted her to kill any gang member she found, or they'd kill her. Perhaps worse. She was in a snuff film.

When she reached the mall, she had managed to find a firearm and proceeded with extreme caution. It's then that she happened to run into Jon by pure luck. This meeting, though slightly petrifying, gave her a sense of hope that her comrades were in this place, and they could regroup and get out of here before dawn.

When she found him, though he was handcuffed, it appeared that he could do just what he was good at due to the fact that he had a relatively small knife, and was simply defiling a corpse with it. Forcefully dragging the edge gradually across any part of its flesh... She then raised the firearm, and took him into custody. And here they are... Trapped in a bar, surrounded by gang bangers who want to kill them for sport.

And she heard the footsteps... Slow footsteps walking on the pathway...They sometimes came by, glancing in here, but not fully going in here.

This man, who had been down once or twice before, was fat, and wore a green Hawaiian-type shirt. While wearing a pure white baby face mask, his way with words sent shivers down Sally's spine.

"Its alright honey..." the man said this as if he was talking to a child. "Daddy would never hurt his special little girl... You can come out... I'd never do anything to harm yo- COME HERE YA LITTLE SHIT!"

A swift giggle erupted forth from the man, and he swaggered away. Sally shuddered.

"Come on, officer..." said Jon "Just one fuck. You're gonna bring me back to prison, where the only folks to fuck are guys named 'Bubba', or perhaps we might even die here..." His voice became cheerful with the thought, "Besides, fucking is a great way to relive tension. Good exercise, too. Hup- hup, let's go."

"And you have done what exactly to the other women you had sex with? Fuck yourself." She recalled the files from the briefing. It was something she never wanted to remember again.

"Ma'am, don't get me wrong, I love to. But I need some work-it stew, got to acquire this warm wetness of yours and make it my own. Know what I'm saying?"

"Well, you can just forget it."

"Brrr!" Game show buzzer sound, "Wrong answer! And I thought I was growing fond of you, officer."

With what seemed like inhuman speed, his right arm coiled back and sent itself flying forth again- fist spearheading the brisk movement, of course. Made a pleasant 'whump' sound as it bridged the gap between his knuckles, and her gut. She fell over, onto her back, and the gun slid across the floor. He stood up, and kicked her in the ribs with the only compassion showing being that which he harbored for violence. Obviously cracking one... She yelped in pain, and he grabbed the gun and holstered it within one of his previously-worthless pockets. Without delay the young man reached down, knife drawn by this point and extended towards the lass's throat. One could almost hear it pulsating with alarmed life flowing through her veins by this point- a sound which he always thought reminiscent of creaking bed-springs. Gently manuvinering his hand across her chest, he ran his hand down to her waist and removed the handcuff keys, pocketing them.

"Don't worry, after a while you'll asphyxiate on vomit- if you get lucky. By the way, did I mention I like to deepthroat?"

"Fuck you!"

"Ah, you know your orders well."

Trailing his tongue slowly across the woman's face by now, up the left cheek to lap up a single salty tear. He flicked it back into his mouth, half-grinned, and went on to effortlessly lop her undershirt asunder. It went quite quickly, a typical routine to him. Mm-mm. Only thing keeping him from that pert rack now was a bra, and that could be easily-

"I HEARD YOU! I SWEAR TO GOD I'M GONNA KILL YOU!" The voice boomed from across the mall, followed by rapid footsteps.

"Esse," another voice called, "I can smell your white ass miles away!"

Jon paused, looked up, and smiled.

"Hmm... I'll get back to you on this, yes?"

And with that, he darted his tongue into her mouth for a quick kiss, and sprinted off into the back room and out the window. Short, light red hair flashing in the moonlight for just a second as he did so. Sally bolted upwards, and followed him out the window as a hand grasped at her hair. She didn't dare look back. Reaching the window, she stepped outside only to feel a searing pain through her shoulder. Stumbling, she fell off the fire escape and hit the cement two stories down. Writhing and moaning with agony, she tried to move. It hurt all over her body. Finally, she mustered the strength to stand, only to have, something grabbing her by the hair and pulling back. Once again, she fell to the cement, and hit her head with a sickening crack. Her vision, at this point, was blurry at best, but she managed to see how there were four men were standing above her. Two with guns, and two with knives.

One of them smiled as he stroked his knife. "This chica es real white, holmes."

The fat baby faced man made a noise that sounded as if he licked his lips.

"Daddy found you, sweetie. Now it's alright, just come here and- RAPE, RAPE, RAPETTY RAPE!" Bursting into literally hysterical laughter upon this change of tone.

The other two remained silent, but proceeded to drop their weapons just out of the hapless lady's reach. Of course, the weapons weren't the only things they dropped. Pants, elbows, and kneecaps also fell down onto the girl- the latter two with far more force than she'd ever cared to notice. The woman simply found herself curling into a ball, and closing her eyes as she waited for death. Quickly flipped onto her back, Sally's legs were forced open- and not coincidentally at the exact same time she heard the familiar 'shink' of a blade being unsheathed.

"A'ight holmes, we goin' in for surgery! Gotta cut her open and save the 'tang!"

"Urr-hooo! Urrhuurrr! Go to hospitable! Weee-oooo, weeeee- oooo!" A voice that seemed to sum up all aspects of mental retardation gone awry.

Valuable lessons were learned by all parties that day indeed. Sally learned never to drop her guard, but sadly could make no practical use of this knowledge. The Innocentz, meanwhile, had an eye-opening view of erotic brutality that day. After each took his respective term, the woman was deemed no longer fit for occupation by any of them. The blood was a lovely effect, but all that wretched stickiness around it made things less-than- habitable.

Five minutes later, McReinheart, who was a few floors above, now saw that it was physically possible to ram a severed leg up to the kneecap into any feminine orifice that had been properly prepared. Good to know.


	7. Chapter Five

ACT ONE: EARLY TO FALL

CHAPTER FIVE: A SONG FOR THE REAPER

9:02 PM...

On the other side of town, Vincent wasn't paying as much attention to his surroundings as he should have been. Instead, he felt it was necessary to take in as much of Miss Renau's figure as possible. She was an exceedingly attractive woman. Cool, calm, smart, and sexy. Too bad she was a damn cop. Of course, no one's perfect. That really put things in perspective. A cop dating a con? It wouldn't last a week.

But, she was beautiful. She was fairly tall for a woman and seemed to be in good shape. She had dirty blonde hair which was down to her shoulders. Very wavy. She also had green eyes, which he was very fond of. Jesus, what a woman...

_She's a cop! Stop thinking with your dick._

"Stop looking at my ass." Said Gab.

Vincent smirked.

"Sorry."

They reached a fork... It seemed they could go either left, or right... Either way could lead to certain doom. 

"So...Which one?"

"...I have a bad feeling about both of them... I haven't heard jack shit from Starkweather for awhile... What the hell is wrong with people today? It seemed just about every person was the product of a corrupt society..."

"And you're any better?" 

"Course I am. Listen, lady. I may be a con, but I'm no murderer... The first person I've ever killed was tonight, and it was to survive... I hate this... I just want this night to end."

"Well, don't worry... I'm sure we'll make it through this... Someone's bound to come looking for us..."

"I'm not so sure about that." 

"What do you mean?"

"Well... When I was talking to Starkweather earlier, he mentioned that when he 'acquired' me, he made sure it appeared that I was dead to the rest of the world. Less questions."

"So?"

"So, that means he probably did the same for you, sweetheart... Hate to break it to you, but we're both up shit creek without a paddle."

"Fuck..."

"And to make matters worse, we're armed with a bat and a goddamned black jack..."

"And yet," Starkweather muttered, "I have yet to see some fantastic kills."

"Starkweather, you bastard!" Screamed Gab.

"Ah, Miss Renau... I do hope you can forgive me for putting you in this predicament... But I had to have at least one other woman... I mean, some one might begin to think I have a thing for men if I didn't throw you in the picture."

"Fuck off, you slimy prick!" Vincent snapped

"Temper, temper... Get to the killing, or I'll tell the Hoods where you two are. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

He chuckled evilly, and then there was silence.

As Starkweather watched them on the monitor, began to rub his crotch area.

_This is brilliant... That fiasco with Miss Douglass really got me hot... I guess I might have to let the python out early... I do hope something doesn't happen while I'm re-watching the foo-_

_Wait... As brilliant as this whole team work aspect is... Yes... That's perfect... What if I take Vincent out of his element... Take him away from the eyes of Miss Renau... Toss him two other people, and give Renau to... Hmm... Well... We can decide that when the time comes..._ _I'll save the python for later._

Flipping a switch, the monitor changed and he noticed that the good ol' boys, Frank and Felix, jump a member of the Innocentz. Frank continued to beat the man up while Felix looked around for something.

_Oh, this should be fun to watch... I paid quite a bit of money to get these two out of prison... And so far, they've been worth double that... This will be something..._

While Frank proceeded to pummel the poor chap, Felix went about finding a chair, some duct tape, and a gag. When the poor excuse for a man was tied up, they began to look around the store they were in.

The store was similar to K-Mart, and Felix began to look through the CDs. The man tried to speak, but with the gag he couldn't get jack shit out. After some searching, he found the one he wanted. 

"My Schutzstaffel Sense has directed me to what we seek." Felix muttered.

"Disclose, disclose!" Frank pounded furiously upon the nearest wall with each syllable.

"A tune of the Christian blood, the blood of Jesus, the blood of dead Jew nailed to a 2x4. White Christmas."

"I can see it speaks our message. Let us serve some work-it stew."

Bolting halfway across the store, Frank briskly returned with an armful of stereo equipment which was promptly set up. The disc was inserted, and lo, music began to play. The duo cracked their knuckles respectively, and advanced towards the hapless victim. Lo and behold, it was a karaoke version of the tune. The gents glanced to each other, shrugged, and decided to improvise. Their ability to convey things such as that with a mere nod somewhat baffled the bound Skull, but he was more concerned about other matters.

"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, all those spics have got to go..." Frank sang

"Where the Negro-skulls splatter, and you can hear the clatter-"

"And the end of old Jim Crow..."

Frank snapped a CD case within his hands, and jammed a plastic shard into the man's left eyeball. He gingerly twisted it left and right, as if adjusting a radio knob, in his mind expecting fine wine to pour out at any second. Felix meanwhile, had hooked his grasp about the gagged victim's lower jaw, and simply ripped down as hard as he could. A good amount if flesh, as well as the left half of the skin on the man's lower jaw, came with it. Muffled screams did nothing to put a damper on their moods.

"To hear the Jews in the fire-" continued Felix.

"Or Negroes hanging from a wire-"

Felix: "May your family have the Aryan might..."

"And may all the world be white!"

Rather than applaud their own ad-lib, the two immediately resumed their work. Frank picked up the heavy stereo system and immediately began to bludgeon the Innocentz's groin with it, while Felix dashed off to the food department a short distance away. Frank dropped the stereo, following him, and both returned not seconds later with new things. Felix grasped pure orange juice and a bottle of vinegar, whilst Frank ran his fingertips over the edge of a peeling knife. Looking at each other, both grinned, and burst out into song once more.

"I'm dreaming, of a white Christmas..." They now sang in unison.

Frank began to carve away all skin from the man's face, starting with the eyelids and moving up to forehead, while Felix carelessly washed the affected areas over with searing citrus. The screaming by now had escalated to a level where even with the gag, it was respectably audible.

"All those spics have got to go!"

Frank proceeded to switch the blade for Felix's vinegar, the orange juice having been tossed aside a split second before. Felix casually gouged out the man's right eye, and with a quick motion of the wrist removed it from the socket entirely. It fell onto the victim's lap, the optic nerve never quite breaking. Frank, with a warm smile one gets from a phone company receptionist, poured the powerful-smelling clear liquid into the new hole.

Sadly, by this point, both faced the reality that soon the pain would knock the man out entirely.

"I think we should drown him." Frank muttered.

Felix simply looked puzzled, not at Frank's inquiry, but rather at the eleven-eyed iridescent squid with feathers that he was absolutely positive he saw rooting about the nearby isles. Frank, whirling around to see what was behind him, saw only Satan giving him the thumbs-up of approval. Giving a smile and a 1940's sitcom wink to the Horned One, Frank dashed off to house wares.

Felix occupied the moment or so Frank was gone in by peeling off layer after layer of skin, muscle, and eventually shavings of bone on the hapless Skull's right cheek. He would periodically stab with the paring blade, and curse something about how the glitter berries never came out. They rarely did these days, it seemed.

Amidst all the screaming, Frank returned with a plain white plastic jug, and a funnel. Felix caught on, and ripped the gag off the enemy. The screeching was unbearable. At least, unbearable to most. The duo had heard far more annoying from women. Frank, knowing what he had to do, did not wait a second in jamming the funnel into the screamer's trachea and dumping bleach within. As the gang member's lungs filled with purging cleanser, his last thought was simply that death would come as a pleasant thing.

Frank meanwhile, regained his sense of reality, shooing the Devil away in a puff of flame. Felix did likewise, having hurled the knife with lethal accuracy at the eleventh eye of the rainbow-squid. As the blade plunged into several Christian rock CDs, he knew the beast was defeated.

Frank smiled. "We have given him lungs that are clean, and tobacco-free."

"And to think, those American cocksuckers wanted to abolish smoking."

"Our ideas are bold and new, but they do work. Speaking of which, let's work-it elsewhere."

Felix simply nodded, grabbed his Louisville Slugger, and headed out. Frank took up a lead pipe he had acquired from the rest-room, and followed suit.

Meanwhile, down the street in the mall, Jon was standing in the shadows with his switchblade drawn. He slowly snuck up behind an Innocentz member, quite adept at silence from the sound of it- absolutely none, and got him in a headlock. Left arm darted out, wrapped around the other's throat, and yanked down hardly. The blade was, naturally, forced up against the man's jugular.

"Now, I'ma gonna ask you this just once, frijole: Got any black tar?" Jon asked.

"Yeah man! Is right over their in that bag o' mine! Please, don't kil- urk!"

A sickening splatter gut off his voice, halfway between a scream and a gurgle.

He hated people who begged for their lives almost as much as he hated everyone else. I mean, they should pick up by the general attitude that they're not gonna make it out of the situation alive. He had simply stabbed the man in the jugular, and was soon showered in a spray of crimson. He smiled, and walked slowly towards the bag. He opened it, and sure enough: Enough heroin to last him for the rest of the week. Beautiful. Things were going his way...

Well... Almost his way. If it was up to him, he would have been the one to rape that fine piece of meat... Not those fuckers! They weren't worthy of the breath God graced them with, and that's why he took them out after the rape. Honestly now, people don't have the decency to share anymore. That, and what they were doing was morally wrong- now he himself felt exempt from all this, half-convinced that there was some form of hell, and half- convinced that after death came only eternal void.

During the rape, of course, he enjoyed a good beat-off, whilst he periodically drew the blade up and down his shoulders, switching hands with both tasks to do so. It was truly beautiful, this, this surreal mixture of pleasure and pain. They were meant to be enjoyed together, these two opposite extremes. Let him know he wasn't dead, like the rest of these cockers would be.

He reached into the bag, and drew the needle. Into his pocket went the blade, and out of it came a length of rubber tubing. He smiled some more, and prepared to shoot up.

Back in the junk yard, Jeremy stepped out of the trailer when he heard a soft pounding on its roof. The moment he was outside, droplets of rain pelted him in the face.

"Goddamnit..." he muttered.

A splash came directly from his left as a fat bigot began, for no apparent reason, to play in a small puddle that was forming while ranting about how "niggers are an insult to the bible".

_Really, now? Well... Let's see how you like this, asshole._

Slowly, he crept up on the fat man, making sure to make as little noise as possible. The rain came down heavier now, meaning he wouldn't have to be as quiet as before.

Before the fat man could react, Jeremy had the bat wrapped around his neck and proceeded to choke the man. Struggling and grunting but to no avail, the fat man soon began to grow weak, and he dropped to his knees. Jeremy removed the bat and readied himself.

"If a nigger's an insult to the bible, how come one just fucked you up?"

He swung the bat as hard as he could, striking the man in the ear. The bat destroyed just about every aspect of the man's head, sending skull, blood, and brains splattering everywhere.

"Stupid mother fucker."

Jeremy looked up and saw that another was thirty feet away. He didn't even notice that his buddy was dead.

_The fates are smiling down upon me... Two bigots for the price of one..._

Using the shadows and rain to mask his movement, he closed in on his target, and using all the adrenaline he could muster, Jeremy hit the man in the back of the head with the bat. The man made some squawking noise, and spun around into another bat strike, killing him. 

"Fuckin' asshole..."

"THERE! THERE'S THAT FILTHY HALF-BREED!" A voice boomed out.

_Fuck! I've been made._

Jeremy turned and ran. It would be suicide to take them all on at once, especially when they might have nail guns. No way he could do it... Only thing to do was to run as fast as he could and hope for the best

"LOOK AT HIM RUN! IT SHOWS HE'S AN INFERIOR RACE!"

"ARYAN SONS! WE HAVE FOUND HIM! HELP YOUR BROTHERS!"

"AS I WALKED THROUGH THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH!"

_Shit!_

He ran, darting in and out of the junk lying around. Cars, tires, bottles, trash. Anything and everything. As he rounded a corner, he spotted a crane and ran for it. He dove, sliding across the mud and trash under it, hiding in the shadows. Seconds later, the trio of bigots came running past.

"What the?! Where the fuck did he go?!"

"You can't hide from the wrath of God, demon!"

"You see that?! He's hiding! That's where he came from! Hiding under a fucking rock, and that's where he crawled back to!"

"Yeah! Yellow bastard!"

"Fucking inferior races, man! They always hide from the justice they deserve! White is right!"

They all agreed in unison, and walked off. No moving a muscle, he stayed underneath the crane with his heart beating with such force; it could rip from his chest if it wanted to. After waiting a good ten minutes, he crawled out from under the crane.

_Shit... I'll have to be more careful if I want to sur-_

Something cold struck him in the back of the skull, sending his face into the mud.

"Got ya you fucking sonovabitch! GUYS! I FOUND HIM!"

There was another blow. And another. Pain swelled forth from every inch of his being. Over and over again they struck him. The man was beating him with a metal baseball bat, similar to the one he used to kill the other two bigots. He felt his bones break and his blood spray. Yelping in pain, he screamed.

"Please! For the love of God," he pleaded, "stop! Have mercy!"

"Niggers don't get no mercy!"

The three men that passed arrived and smiled down upon him. They all began to kick his body.

"Quit your sniveling!"

And then there was no more thought as a cold alloy bat slammed into Jeremy's skull, splattering brain and shards of bone everywhere. His last thought was of his daughter.

They continued beating him for some time, but then stopped when they decided it was enough. By then though, there was no way anyone could identify the body.

"I guess we showed him! Stupid nigg-"

His slur was cut short as a nail hit him between the eyes, killing him instantly. The remaining trio looked where the shot came from and saw a Japanese man running towards them. More nails came forth from the gun, and before they could react, two had died, and one had collapsed in agony.

"Oh God! Fuck! Please... Don't!"

Hiro walked slowly over to the pleading man.

"Did you show compassion to the man you just beat to death?"

The gang member moaned in pain.

"I didn't think so."

Pointing the nail gun to the man's head, he pulled the trigger three times, killing the man instantly.

Near the Darkwoods Sanitarium, Vallen had finished patching up Carlos as he eyed the pistol cautiously.

"So, who are you?" Vallen asked.

_I hope this works._

"My name is Hector Rodriguz, and I am in the food service business." said Carlos calmly.

This wasn't to far from the truth. His birth name was indeed Hector Rodriguz, and he had inherited his father's restaurant when he died. However the restaurant didn't fare so well and was not enough to pay the rent, which explained Mr. Garcia's current occupation He kept his original name and restaurant, incase he had to quickly change lives.

"Well Mr. Rodriguz-"

"Please, call me Hector."

"Right...Well, Hector, your damn lucky this guy attacked you when he did. We were across the street and were about to leave when we heard your gunshots. Though you seemed to have been able to take care of him easily, who knows if you would have been able to handle your wound."

"Thank you, but who are you two and what the hell is going on here?"

Of course, a lie, and Vallen's story of who they were and the possible reasons for them being here were boring. But, it was either this or have his cover blown, so he chose this...At least Ms. Thompson had very impressive assets. It really was the only thing to pay attention to as Vallen prattled on and on about theories of why they would be there, who was doing this, and why these gang members happened to be so psychotic.

"I see..."

"Where did you find that gun?" Ashley asked curiously.

This would be easy to bullshit.

"I managed to knock a man unconscious, and grab this and some clips off his body."

"And you know how to use it?"

This however, might not be easy.

"Of course. My Godfather taught me when I was a child."

Also, not far from the truth. However, Mr. Fernando Diaz, Carlos's godfather, only taught him how to shoot a rifle...He learned the pistol trade on his own.

"Good. Another man with a gun is very good, especially when it is being handled by someone who knows how to use firearms. I have this," he drew the .44 magnum he acquired earlier, "but I'm not too good with it."

"As long as you point it at the vatos who attack us, and not me or your lady friend, I think we'll do alright."

All three of them laughed.

"So, where to?"

"Not sure, we were gonna decide that, but then heard your gunshots."

"We could go to an apartment complex I saw about ten blocks back. It might be safer than this area." said Ashley. "I mean... We might find some more weapons or something..."

"That's not a bad idea," very surprised to hear this come from a big breasted brunette, but he did not show it. "We might find some heavier weapons to use."

"So it's settled then."

"Good," Carlos thought to himself. They don't suspect anything. Just the way he liked it.


	8. Chapter Six

ACT ONE: EARLY TO FALL

CHAPTER SIX: RAGE OF DEMENTIA

Aaron ran... Ran faster than he ever ran in his whole life. Somehow he had messed up, and taken a wrong turn. Earlier, he saw a sign that said Darkwoods Sanitarium, and somehow had the feeling he should have turned around... The director, however, said that if he did, he'd sick the Hoods on him... He had no choice... And now, he was running from this nightmare. They were insane. So insane he thought it was rubbing off on himself... He had never been more frightened in his whole life. He heard their deranged-at-best screams, and forever dreaded becoming a cop to begin with.

He heard the gunshot, and saw the dirt to his right explode into the air. He pissed himself, and ran faster. A corner! He whirled around it, and spied a door. Quickly, he slammed into the heavy thing, using all of his weight.

The door wouldn't budge, and his shoulder was now searing with pain.

"BARRY! Get your ass back here! We need to talk!"

The voices were quickly drawing closer, and if he didn't hurry he would die. He crashed against it a second time. Nothing. With all hope about to fade, he crashed into the door a third time and it finally opened. Stumbling inside, he ran down the hall. The door crashed open again as he turned the corner, and he heard their demented screams.

"GIVE ME BACK MY FUCKING SHOES! I WANT MY FUCKING SHOES!"

"SQUIBBLY RIBBLY GRIBLY BIBBLY FIBBLY GRIBBLY RIBBLY BEAR!"

Half way down the hall, and loosing energy. This couldn't be how it ended. It wouldn't be! His adrenalin pumped ten fold now, and he sped up the rest of the way. There was a flight of stairs at the end, and he quickly hurled himself into the shadows.

"YOU WERE MESSING AROUND WITH THAT WHORE AGAIN?! WEREN'T YOU?! That's it! I've had it! I'm moving back to Mom's!"

From what it sounded, there were only 3 of them...Not good, but it could be worse... There was only one thing to do to end this...

"Wait! Look! You see! I know where you went! YOU WANNA KNOW WHY?! YOUR FOOTPRINTS! THEY ARE THE FOOTPRINTS OF MY MOTHER FUCKING SHOES!"

It was his only chance. As the gang member attempted to run through the doorway from the stairs, Aaron extended his arm out in a quick manner, hitting the Smiley right in the neck. The decorated man stumbled back a bit, and fell down the stairs. Perfect clothesline move.

And he felt the cold stab of pain in his gut before he heard the gunshot. Stumbling into the doorway, he fell down the stairs and landed on top of another gang member, breaking his neck. Aaron's breathing became shallow and blood seeped past his own hands, which were currently pressed against his cut. As he looked up the stairs, he saw one of them with a revolver...

_Fuck..._

A noise came from his right, and as he looked, he saw another two walking towards him. Like all Smilies, they wore yellow Smiley face masks that were cracked and blood stained. One of them even went so far as scrawl "PLEASE STOP ME" across the visage. Feeling more pain on his stomach, he looked up and saw that the one who shot him was now pressing his foot against his stomach and cocking his head. The man was wearing a pink Sunday dress, confusing the hell out of him. The man holstered his pistol and drew a meat cleaver and began waving it ever so slowly, adding to the excruciating tension. Looking back to his right flank, he saw that those two also drew meat cleavers stained with blood, and slowly walked towards him.

"Kids, go upstairs and don't you dare come down! Your FATHER and I need to have a little talk!"

_God... I'm going to die... I'll never make it out of here... Fuck!_

"Your gonna pay for taking my fucking shoes!"

_Please! God! Help me! Help me!_

"Fug gonna have fun! FUG FUG, FUN FUN!"

And as they grew nearer, he heard screaming... It was his own...

On the other side of town, Edward had dispatched quite a number of other gang members since the crucifixion. Somehow, he was getting bored... The gangs weren't posing as much of a threat as he hoped they would...

_God... I knew I was twisted before tonight... But I really don't want this to end... If only... If only there was someone who could match my skill... Someone to actually put forth an effort... How that would be marvelous._ _Ah well..._

Edward went back to beating a gang member's face in with his pipe until he heard the sickening and satisfying squishy crack sound... The sound you'd get when the skull cracks open, and the pipe meets the brain. Apparently the pipe and brain didn't agree with each other and decided to duel. The brain lost, of course. It always lost. As he smiled, he wiped the tissue matter off the pipe, and walked back down stairs.

"My good sir, I had a startling revelation quite recently." Frank said.

"My ears are open, old bean."

"I was reading the news-paper, and lo and behold, there it was- and mentioned in only the tiniest of print, lost within a political article might I add!"

Felix perked up, and listened intently. He placed his stein down for a moment, and leaned closer.

"Oh? Do tell."

"It seems that Negroes count as a whole person when voting!"

Felix was visibly taken aback, his form shuddered.

"What?! Blasphemy! Tell me no more lies! Take it away, take it away!"

"That's not all! Get this! Women are now allowed to vote as well! What would old George Washington say about THAT?"

"Not much, being as American leaders are typically of the 'fucking retarded' persuasion."

Frank rubbed his chin thoughtfully, before raising his stein of ale up jubilantly for a toast.

"A toast!" they both cried in unison.

They found a pub in the mall, and of course, thought of only one thing to do. DRINK! And so they did, like Austrians no less. Felix being one, this task was 50 easier. But, they did find some visitors there, and dealt with them accordingly.

One man found he had a pool cue down his throat, however Frank had called 'eight ball in the stomach pocket' prior, so the shot was quite necessary. Another man could now be called 'TV head' for a good reason, and yet another had two beer bottles gouged into his face. Oh, what a night.

One interesting sight was just outside the window. There appeared to be some orgy of death down there, and they were a bit upset that they weren't invited... Somehow, someone managed to mangle a woman so badly that her leg ended up in a place it very well shouldn't... Add to the fact that there were four other dead bodies, each with what appeared to be stripped flesh and broken skulls, it was surely a sight to remember.

Frank took a large gulp from his mug, and laughed.

"But seriously, darkies. What is the deal? As if they haven't bastardized humanoids as a whole enough, they take out spoken language as well? What's next, they learn to write and start messing with the alphabet as well? Will 'izzo' become a letter? I never thought I'd say this, but praise their illiteracy. God bless."

"Tell me about it. Its all like: 'Fo shizzle, ho! Man, yo best not be tryin' to steal my man, bitch! If you even try dat shit with me, I'll pop a cap into yo ass faster than yo can say 'I wanna play basketball'", and then they start snapping their fingers. Its gives me a fuckin' headache."

"Same thing with Spics, 'cept they bitch about how smelly their houses are, even though they should know why, and how they have run out of burritos."

"Tell me about it! The whole world needs to be nuked except for those who are pure!"

"Good buddy, do you have that same thought I do?"

"Mayhaps!"

"Can I get a..."

"WHITE POWER!" they cried in unison.

They swallowed some more of the ale, and laughed some more.

In their brief time together, Vincent and Gab had dispatched four gang members... Two by stealth, two by brawl. It wasn't very pleasant, but it had to be done. Vincent patted down one of the men and found a pack of cigarettes. Drawing one, he lit it up and took a long drag. Casually looking up at Gab, he offered her the pack to which she shook her head.

"No thanks. I don't smoke."

"Neither do I."

Gab looked confused for a moment, and then smiled pleasantly. It wasn't the best time or place for humor, but it helped relax their nerves.

"What are our chances?"

Gab was snapped back to reality by his comment.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you think we'll make it out of here alive... Starkweather told me there were gangs... We've been dealing with one... I saw an explosion earlier, and I'm sure it's due to another gang... So... What do you think our chances are?"

"...Honestly... I don't know..."

"Heh... That's reassuring... Thanks..."

"Hey, I'm not gonna lie and say 'Yeah, Vince. We'll defiantly make it out of here and bring down the bad guy.' This is the real world. Bad shit happens to good people all the time. If we make it out of here alive, then we're lucky... But don't ask me to lie."

"Fine... I wish these pricks carried guns..."

"Yeah, seriously... That would even the odds quite a bit.

_Man... This is so... So boring... Ah well... I guess it's time to spice things up a bit..._

Starkweather pressed a button on his desk, and moments later, two men walked into the room. One was Staff Sergeant Benjamin Meyers, and the other was Private Victor Travis. They both stood at attention.

"Yes, sir?" Meyers asked.

"I've grown tired of these scenes... I want you to locate Miss Renau, Mr. McNeil, and Mr. Yamada. I'll let you know what you should do from there."

"Understood."

The two saluted Starkweather, and proceeded to exit the room.

"Uhm, sir?" Travis asked.

Without looking, Meyers responded. "What is it, private?"

"What does he mean...by scenes?"

"Never mind that. You're a member of the Cerberus. We're an elite unit tasked with Mr. Starkweather's personal safety, as well as making sure everything in this city runs smoothly. You don't ask questions, you follow orders. You took the job for the pay, so gear the fuck up."

"Uhm... Yes sir."

Travis stood stunned as Meyers began to walk off.


	9. Chapter Seven

ACT ONE: EARLY TO FALL

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE END OF THE LINE

9:52 PM...

Jon was high as a kite. After managing to kill three more people with his bare hands, he had stumbled across a hand axe. Thinking how fortunate it was to stumble across such a worthy weapon, he applauded himself at his stumbling ability. This city was dangerous. It most certainly wasn't the type of famed city where kittens frolicked through meows... Some how, that thought amused himself to the point of hysteria.

Jon was still in Innocentz turf, but he didn't know that. He knew he was having the time of his life. Not life time, but time life. And it was just that. He was having the time of his life by taking the life of others. By force. How ironic.

Slaughter, the sport of kings- he thanked his lucky stars he'd eaten his Wheaties this morning... Or was that a year ago? Oh hell, time didn't matter! All he knew was that he was going to be late for SOMETHING if he kept lollygagging about.

There was a noise to his left, and sure enough, another one of those Godless creatures was standing, oblivious to the world. So, Jon did the only thing he thought was right, and pranced right up behind him. Emulating the stereotypical ballerina for his own comical amusement. During this, he was rather inhumanly silent. He simply tapped the man on the shoulder, and when he turned to face Jon, his face met the sharpened wedge being slammed into it. The two fractions, the metal axe and the flesh-and-bone face, had a disagreement. One which the axe truly took the cake on, splitting the skull asunder in light of the fact that titanium by-product is harder than calcium and marrow. The body fell down dead, and Jon stood there with more blood on him. Smiling, he had a brief giggle fit, but soon recovered. He always loved to giggle; put him more in touch with his feminine side. This was also, coincidentally, the part of his persona he used as an excuse to justify the masochistic pleasure he often put himself through.

It occurred to the young man only then that his hormones were raging, and needed rapid appeasement. Suddenly finding himself wishing he had fought those bastards off... He could have easily killed them, and then had Sally all for himself. Ah, beautiful Sally... Even in death she was beautiful... Hell, more so than in life! The lacerations and the beads of sweat rolling off her pale forehead, all so alive considering she wasn't! He could take in every detail for hours, if only for the sake of being near her! Ah yes, simply stroking her lifeless form gently- the wonders! She could not resist, she loved him- didn't she? Of course! And who didn't? Aside from those who hated Jon, but of course. Oh, to curve the pale lips into a smile, see her happy! That's all he really wanted to do, right? Right! Please the woman, make her feel GOOD! But he didn't- they did. And this, this was criminal.

But quite alright, they paid for their debauchery of an angel accordingly.

Damn it all! That is what he should have done! It didn't matter if she was dead or not, despite when they are alive it was more fun, he could have fucked her anyway... He couldn't now, only due to he didn't know where the he was... That sucked, but he had been in worse situations... But this emotional instability, it got old at times. He was purely conscious of wanting to rape Sally one moment and hug her gently from behind the next, very aware of his own mind. He could see where it was going, but never stop it. No matter, came in handy sometimes, the urges for violence.

He reached down, and picked up some spare clips from the man who he just wasted, and slid them in his other empty pocket. Wonderful. A hand axe, switchblade, a pistol, and ammo to boot. The pistol was the Glock his lady-love acquired earlier, he assumed. Not the best gun in the world, but it would do until he found something better... Not exactly an aficionado of firearms, but certainly familiar with them, the boy found himself wishing for anything better. A SIG-Sauer P220, his personal preference for the sleek aluminum frame, was the top thing on his mind.

Ah! And what's this? A sign, a sign of properties divine! Property divine more likely, the Carcer City Zoo to be specific. Is that where they kept folks like him? Because he sure got called an animal frequently enough, it seemed to make sense. No matter, the establishment of fuzzy things to behold and crucify was but a mile from his present location. He'd always wanted to crucify a chimpanzee, if not for anything more than a good insult to Christianity. That and crucifying anything at all seemed like great fun.

After giving the man a somewhat proper burial, Hiro continued through the junkyard, dispatching whoever got in his way. This was something that needed to be done. At this point, he didn't care if the gang caught him and killed him. So long as he could take down as many of these red neck bigots as possible in the process... That would make it so he wouldn't have died in vein...

_Fucking Starkweather... I swear to God I'm going to rip you apart... But that's what you want, isn't it you prick? You want my animal urges up. You want me to kill as many of these fucks in a short time period... But don't worry... I'll make sure to satisfy your sick, twisted urge... I guess it's the only kind thing I'll ever do for you... Right before I rip you apart..._

_I'll make sure to kill you slowly... Very slowly; sliding a knife across every part of your body, letting you scream with pain... Letting you slowly bleed to death right there... How wonderful that would feel..._

_No! I can't think like that... Feel? God... That's how psychos think... Killing Starkweather is one thing... Torturing him to death is another... It doesn't matter if he deserved it or not... I only have one of two options... Arrest him, or kill him. No torture. No pleasure... I won't do anything sadist-_

His thoughts were cut off at the sound of footsteps on gravel perhaps twenty feet in front of him.

_Shit... You've done it now, Yamada..._

He turned to run when a bright light flashed on, temporarily blinding him, followed by the cock of automatic rifles. When his vision recovered, he saw that he was surrounded. Not by fat, racist pigs... But by Special Forces.

"Drop your fucking weapons, and lay yourself flat on the fucking ground!" The unknown figure screamed loudly.

_Fucking hell... Smooth move... _

"I said drop your fucking weapons," he screamed even louder than before, "and get your fucking ass on the fucking ground! NOW!"

Hiro slowly dropped his weapons, and kicked them to the side. Continuing to follow their instructions, he laid himself flat on his stomach, face touching the floor.

One of the men walked up and handcuffed him. Before he could comprehend what to do, he was yanked to his feet and shoved towards the light.

"Asshole..."

"What was that?!"

Pain seared through his back as one of the Special Forces hit him with the butt of his gun. He looked up to try to get a look at the guy, but his face was quickly bagged.

It appeared they didn't want him to know where he was going, so they placed what appeared to be a burlap bag over his head.

_Damnit... I can't see shit..._

He could hear them, however... Barely... He heard something about midnight, and zoo... Everything was mumbled gibberish. He felt them lift him up, and throw him into something... Most likely a van...

A large, Caucasian male sat silently in a seedy hotel room... He wore a black wife beater, black cargo pants, and black boots... Methodically, he rubbed his pistol, a Desert Eagle, with a small cloth... To his right lay a white hockey mask with red markings on it. Next to it was his trusty combat knife, and a pair of black, fingerless gloves... He showed no emotion… This was what he would do just about every night he was to be involved with a Valiant Video production...

Something beeped, and the man, who preferred to be called Mr. Nasty, reached into his pocket and withdrew a cellular phone. He opened it, and grunted.

"Ah, Mr. Nasty... It's a pleasure doing business with you once again..." Starkweather said.

"Thank you, Lionel." His voice was gruff, and sounded as if he had perhaps one too many cigarettes.

"I do happen to have some work for you tonight... There happen to be quite a few actors who don't seem to be behaving as well as they should... So I figured you'd like to... Enlighten them..."

"It'll me an honor, Lionel... How soon do you need me?..."

"Well... I don't think we'll start till around midnight... But if it isn't too much trouble, I'd like you to come down to the house and take a look at some of the footage I got... It's pretty special... The Innocentz actual-"

"Please, Lionel... Don't tell me the details... I'd love to see it for myself and be surprised..."

"Ha ha... That's my boy... When do you think you'll be here?"

"Well... Ten minutes good enough?"

"Perfect... I'll see you in a few."

"Yes. Goodbye, Lionel."

Mr. Nasty closed the phone slipped back into his pocket. Cracking his back as he stood, he walked over to the table and picked up his knife and gloves, and then proceeded to walk out the door.

They had never seen anything like it in their lives...

After wandering around the Hoods territory for awhile, stumbled across something that shocked them to the core.

It was a man who had been nailed to a fence and had a crowbar through his legs. It was a mock crucifixion...

"Holy shit..." Vincent muttered in disbelief...

Gab gagged, and covered her mouth. "Even if he is a gang member... We can't leave him like this..."

"Agreed... Shit... What could have done this?"

Vincent slowly walked to the body, and jumped back when the body looked up and screamed a horrific noise that was almost inhuman.

"It's still alive?!" Gab exclaimed.

The man writhed with agony, not being able to see a thing or speak coherently. The only words that they were able to understand were "stop!" and "please don't!". This was defiantly something.

Before they could help the poor man out in anyway shape or form, two vans pulled up at either end of the alley with their headlights beaming at them. Moments later, men garbed in body armor and wielding assault rifles and shotguns filled the alley with their guns pointing at the two of them.

"Shit!" Gab screamed.

"Fucking hell..." Vincent muttered 

One of the Special Forces members looked over towards the man closest to his van.

"Notify Mr. Starkweather that subjects McNeil and Renau have been located."

Victor had his M4 aimed right between the eyes of subject 'McNeil'. If he tried anything, he'd pull the trigger without so much as a "Good day to you!" Not because he wanted to... No... It was because it was expected of him

There was only one way to look at it... This was a paycheck... He didn't know what Starkweather was up to, but he had a bad feeling that something bad would happen if he started asking too many questions... 

_Damn... That chick is hot... Anyone who said otherwise would be either gay, blind, or a lying son-of-a-bitch... But she's got a bat... She could very well bee a feminist, and an armed feminist was the worse variety by far_

"Toss your bat to the side, Miss Renau" said Meyers in a commanding tone.

It seemed she could follow directions, because without hesitation, she followed his orders precisely, dotting every I and crossing every T. She wasn't scared, nor was she nervous. She was cool, and calm... It seemed as if she has had a gun pointed at her on many before... She was a pro... A pro at what, though? 

Vincent looked at McNeil and motioned his gun towards him.

"You, do the same with your black jack. You try anything funny, and you'll be greeted with hollow points and buckshot.McNeil resisted to a degree, Vincent a dirty look in the process.

"Alright, cuff the girl." Meyers commanded.

Three men walked over towards McNeil, while Vincent and another walked towards the bombshell.

"I don't want to hurt you," Vincent said calmly, "but I will if you resist... Now... Get on your knees, and place your hands behind your head."

There was the sound of a scuffle behind him, and knew it was the sound of McNeil putting up a fight of some kind.

She didn't flinch at all, and did exactly what she was told...

_Good... She has brains..._

Grabbing her arms gently, he brought them to her back and handcuffed her.

"Alright... Get up... Slowly..."And she did. He looked to his right and saw that McNeil was putting up quite a fight.

"FUCK YOU!" he screamed.

Four other men rushed over and proceeded to join the fray, beating him with their clubs and the butts of their rifles. Seven in all to take down one man. After about a minute of this, the group dispersed save for one man handcuffing the now unconscious man. He, and another, helped pick up McNeil and drag him to one of the two vans, blood trickling forth from his head during the process. 

Vincent slowly escorted Renau to one of the vans, and placed her in the back.

"Travis, Meyers wants to see you" came a voice from behind.

Vincent proceeded to turn around and walk straight towards Meyers, halting and saluting once he reached him.

"Sir!"

"Travis, I want you to escort the woman to the Mall. Got that?" Meyers said.

"Uhm, sir... Why the mall, sir, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I do mind you asking. Buckle the fuck up and follow orders soldier. Take the woman to the mall. NOW."

Meyers turned around and walked off to talk with some of the other men.

_Asshole..._

Edward had decided to take a look back at his perfect crucifix when he saw the two of them... The man… Ha... Easy to dispatch... The woman... Oh... The woman... He wanted to get into her pants so badly it hurt... Before he could act upon any of these urges, however, two vans screamed to a halt at either side of the alley. Luckily for him, he was on the top of the building... He wanted to get a bird's eye view of the masterpiece he had created.

The thing that amazed him the most wasn't the fact that there were Special Forces... It was the fact that the man was still alive after being crucified, and shot in the eyes with a nail gun…

_The human body is a resilient fucker... Perhaps I'll take up torture as a side project... I seem to be good at it, and it was quite entertaining..._

_Wow... That man is putting up quite the fight... This should be on TV or something... World's Most Vicious Police beatings... I bet this would surpass even Rodney King... Ha ha..._

_It's also interesting that they aren't forcing their way upon the woman... I guess the police, or whoever they are, have some form of "No Rape" rule, or something to that effect... Hmm... Curious..._

The two of them were put into separate vans, and after five minutes or so, the vans drove off in different directions.

It didn't matter...They didn't affect him, though he would have loved to have been closer to the woman...Ah well, he can always find someone else.

Vallen, Carlos, and Ashley had finally reached the apartment complex she had mentioned earlier…

_Fuck... This area is pack full of those Smilies... Stupid whore... You've brought us to our doom!_

"Here it is," she said, "I can't promise anything... I only walked past it."

"It's better than nothing... We can maybe get a few hours of rest while one of us keeps guard..." Vallen muttered.

_Shit... I'll have to play along with these two idiots... If I kill Vallen now, I'd risk alerting the rest of those damn Smiles... Fuck I hate them!_

"May I suggest that I take the first watch, with you and Hector resting. I'm a bit tired, but you two could use the rest more than I could."

"Thank you, Robert." Said Ashley.

"Yeah, thanks holmes..."

The three off them stepped into the building, and proceeded to go up the stairs... It didn't appear that anyone was there, and if there was, they'd probably gain the upper hand quickly... There wasn't much, if anything, they could do...


	10. Chapter Eight

ACT TWO: LIVING ON A PRAYER

CHAPTER EIGHT: CHAINGANG

Tuesday, November the 18th, 2003... 12:04 AM...

Darkness... It was something Vincent was familiar with... This felt different though... He felt... Weightless... Perhaps this was what it felt like to be dead...

_But am I dead? I don't think so... What's happening to me?_

Feeling as if he was falling through an never ending spiral was slightly disorienting, even if you weren't aware of what was happening... It was not pleasant, not in the slightest.

_What's this pulling sensation? Am I... Am I being pulled out of the darkness? Could there really be an afterlife, and this is God's way of sending me to heaven? Nothing seems right anymore... I guess I'll go with the flow._

_**Wake the fuck up, asshole! Hey! Dickhead! Wake up!**_

Vincent regained consciences, and slowly stood.

"About fucking time... I was afraid I'd have to drag you."

Turning around, he saw a six foot tall Japanese man wearing black t-shirt with plain blue jeans.

"Huh... Drag?"

"Look at your foot, dumb ass." Said the man angrily.

Sure enough, strapped to his ankle was a chain connecting the two of them. It seemed there was enough slack for them to stand about five feet apart.

"What the-"

"Fuck? Yes... Interesting, isn't it..." Starkweather said playfully.

"You asshole, Starkweather! What the fuck have you done?!"

"Aha, Mr. Yamada... You looked lonely, so I found you a playmate! Perhaps I should introduce the two of you... Yamada, this is Vincent McNeil, an ex-con who's been convicted of robbing banks and other establishments. And McNeil, this is Lieutenant Katsuhiro 'Hiro' Yamada, a member of the Liberty City Police Department who was sent on loan to Carcer City... His purpose was to investigate me, and a few of my dear friends... But we couldn't have that, now could we?"

"Fuck you, Starkweather!" Hiro snarled.

"Aw, that's not very nice... I set you two up on a play date, and here you are cursing me out... A shame... It just goes to show you, that the youth have little respect for their elders, aha ha."

"What's your game, asshole?!" Vincent, enraged naturally, pounded his fist against a plank laying against the brick wall, causing it to fall to the ground. "And what have you done with Gab?"

Hiro quickly turned and looked at Vincent. "Gab's here?!"

"Ah, yes..." Starkweather spoke in his patronizing drawl once again, as if to add to their fury. "You see Vincent, Hiro here is a member of the task force that Miss Renau is apart of... Don't worry... She's fine for now... And my game, as you so put it, is an experiment... I wanted to see teamwork."

"Teamwork? Then why did you split me and Gab up?" Vincent demanded.

"Because that was WILLING team work. You bumped into each other, and decided to team up... In this case, you HAVE to work together, and make sure the other doesn't die... Because if one of you dies, the other will have to drag his corpse to the finish line... Aha ha..."

"What are you trying to pull, asshole?!" Hiro screamed.

"It's a game, Hiro. Calm down. You like games, don't you? I do... They are fantastic in situations like these..."

"Fuck you and your fucking game!"

"I'll ignore that for now... Anyways, this is a REALLY fun game which I know you both will enjoy! Tee hee! It's simple to, so you don't have to worry about complicated rules... Ha ha ha... All you have to do is go into the zoo ahead of you, find a girl who is being held captive there, and make it back here to the gate to your left..."

"You're a scumbag." Vincent muttered.

"There are a few rules though... As I said, nothing too complicated..." 

Smirking, Hiro crossed his arms. "What might they be, dick weed."

"Well, the first, and most obvious one, is that one of you has to be alive. I don't need you both, but I need one of you... And don't think of pulling a heroic act by sacrificing yourselves so the girl can get to the gate... If one of you is not there, I'm not opening it, so she'll die...

"Secondly, the girl MUST be brought to the gate... Though you might care if she lives or dies, I obviously don't. If she dies, big deal. Bring her corpse here. More work for you if she dies, so do try to keep her alive...

"The third rule is... How should I put this? I'm sure a thought is running through your minds right now... That, if for some unfortunate circumstance, one of you dies, then you'll just cut the chain and leave the other's body... No, that won't slide, Mr. DJ... Bring their corpse back here... I don't care if both your partner and the girl are dead... For me to open the gate, everyone has to be here, dead or alive...

"Now... Lets see... Anything else I'm forgetting? Oh, yes... You can't cut the chain. That will come later, at the end of the game. You cut the chain, and you automatically loose, you'll both end up as experiments in Herr Doctor's lab."

"Herr Doctor?" Hiro asked.

"Oh, and the most important rule... It may seem simple and easy, but it's not... You have to be back here by two thirty AM, on the dot... I don't care if you're a second late. At two thirty AM, the door will lock, and you'll be left in this zoo to rot.

Vincent scoffed. "You're one twisted fucker, Starkweather."

"Aww, that's not a very nice thing to say to your bestest friend in the entire world, now is it?"

"Go to hell."

"Vince, if we are to remain friends, you have to start thinking with your head and stop saying such hurtful things."

"Bastard." Hiro muttered.

"See?! Now you're getting HIM to turn against me! I don't know what do do if you weren't my friend, Vince! I'm an emotional train wreck. I'd be devastated... Vince... Talk to me... Answer me! Oh God, don't leave me, Vincent! Please, don't leave me!.. Ha ha ha... That was fun..."

"Are you quite finished yet?" the agitation in Vincent's voice growing every second.

"No... I like the sound of my own voice... Oh, and while your in there... Please, please, please- give me some grade A, honest to God gore... I'm getting sick of this PG13 shit you've been force feeding me."

"What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"Dig deeper into your nightmares, or creativity, or something... I'm getting a bit bored with you two as of late, and thus I'm loosing my wood... You wouldn't want that... Bad stuff happens to boring actors... So keep that in mind. If you could stab someone in the neck with a knife, that's well and good... Think of ways to make it more creative, stepping it up from PG13 to NC17. Got that?"

"Fuck off."

"Once again, you say such hurtful things, Vinnie... You'll get more with sugar than you will with poison... But I'll be willing to let your insults slide for right now, only 'cause I like you to much... Anyways... I have some... Shall I say, business to attend to, aha ha... So you two have fun... Now… What do they say? Oh, yes... Let the games begin."

Starkweather's sadistic laugh lasted a few moments before there was radio silence.

"This is great," Hiro muttered, "I'm stuck with a fucking convict."

"Fuck you! I'd rather be chained to one of those wack job gang members than you, asshole!"

"Oh, really? Pray tell, what the fuck did you do to Gab while you were with her?!"

"Piss off. I didn't touch your 'girlfriend'."

"Oh. 'Piss off.' That's not very reassuring, dickhead. I swear, if you so much as laid a finger on my partner, I'll rip you limb from limb."

"Really? How you gonna do that, limp dick?"

"You know what... Fuck you... We're stuck like this, and there isn't a damn thing we can do about it... What time is it?"

Vincent looked at his watch.

"A quarter after twelve... We haven't got much time. Zoos tend to be big, and knowing Starkweather, it's probably filled to the brim with traps and psychos, making time a commodity we don't have... Shit... We'll be lucky if we get back, let alone in one piece..."

"Fuck... "

The duo slowly walked into the entrance of the zoo, completely unaware of the dark figure lurking less than twenty feet away in the bushes.

Somewhere within the zoo, the Wardogs were crowded into a large animal pen, chatting amongst themselves. All of them were carrying their respective weapons, which, unlike the Hoods, mostly consisted of firearms. However, it seemed all, or at least most, were also equipped with, or in some cases only equipped with, machetes, which they would use for stealth kills, or skinning, or whatever the job needed. These guys were grade A psychopaths that fit in perfectly with the concept of snuff films, and took this job to heart.

A few moments later, a large African American man walked up to a make shift podium. Though his real name was something of a mystery in itself, he insisted everyone called him Colonel Gator. An odd nickname, but no one questioned it. Something about him screamed authority, and sure enough, the rest of the Wardogs started to quiet down a bit and began to watch him as he stopped at the top of the podium.

"Wardogs, fall in and listen up!... Alright, I just got off the radio with Captain Ramirez... It seems the targets have woken up, entered the zoo, and started the game. And sure enough, Rico just called in and said he saw them enter… No, I know yall were at the briefing, but Mr. Starkweather wanted me to make sure everything was crystal clear before we headed out... You are not, I repeat, NOT allowed to touch the girl in any shape, way, or form. Not violently, not sexually. Mr. Starkweather wants her integrity intact. We can do whatever the hell we want to her if we kill the two targets, OR if they've acquired the girl. Mr. Starkweather was adamant about this... "

There was a bit of grumbling amongst some of the Wardogs who felt it was their personal responsibility to introduce the girl to their little friends.

"Shut up! I'm not finished!"

The grumblings quickly subsided.

"Now, I know yall are tough, but yall know what happened to the last group of guys who didn't follow Mr. Starkweather's orders... None of us want to wind up in Darkwood, so be on your best fucking behavior... Also, keep in mind that due to this is a 'special' circumstance; you're looking at fifteen grand a head. That's right... Thirty grand is on the table, ready for the taking... Now, I know I speak for the lot of you that I can't wait to get to run by blade across their flesh... So let's get this shit started! Hoo-ah!"

"Hoo-ah!" Cried the crowd.

Colonel Gator smiled. "Let's get them bastards!"


	11. Chapter Nine

ACT TWO: LIVING ON A PRAYER

CHAPTER NINE: INTENSE MEASURES

12:17 AM...

After a couple hours of what he would call stop and go traffic, Jon had finally reached the zoo. It was fairly quiet... A little too quiet... But that's how things were around here. Too quiet, or loud from the screams of the innocent. Either was satisfying.

_Goody goody panty-shots, just in time._

A rather belligerent-looking Black man didn't appear to notice Jon. He was content with looking off to the left at the restroom, as if it was the object of his great desire. His dream come true. Thankfully, Jon's vision was used to the dark, and he had adapted quite quickly due to the dark time he spent in prison cells. Brazenly, Jon simply walked up behind the man, and tapped him on the shoulder. As he turned around, he palm healed the man in the Adam's apple, causing the man to drop his machete, gasp and collapse on the floor.

"Well howdy there, stranger!" Jon said mockingly. "Can y'all tell me what's all up in this hizzy?" Jon paused and chuckled. "Hoo-wee! I'm totally like, jiving, mon amie!"

The man tried to slowly inch himself away from Jon.

"Fuck you! Do what you gotta do, asshole!

"Now wait just a cotton picking minute." Jon let out a loud laugh. "Hahaha! Cotton picking... Heh... I crack me up, big time. Anyways, I don't take orders from Negro-types, such as yourself. I'm still wondering how they let you out of the monkey house- probation, maybe?"

Jon languidly drew his pistol from his pocket, and placed the barrel right on the Wardog's lower lip.

Jon smiled. "So lose the 'tude, lest I cap yo' fatass, black-ass lip. I've got the advantage here, buddy- I can't miss from a mile away with a target like that."

The Wardog smiled, obviously knowing he was going to die.

"We are supposed to kill two mothas who we-"

"Wait... Back up to the two mothers... Two people, you're supposed to hunt, right? Or were you just talking me up with your blackanese?"

"Ha ha ha- real funny ASSHOLE."

Jon got excited.

_I could hunt those pricks down myself.. Or even better! Ka-booyah!_

"Go on, sir. Continue."

"We're supposed to kill to kill two bastards as they try to rescue a girl we have tied up in the-"

"Hold up again, G Funk Money- or whatever your 'homies' call you... A girl, you say?"

"You got a cock in your ear or something?"

"Cute. But what a grand night this will turn out to be!"

Before he could think, he felt a sudden rush between his legs.

_If she's hot... I know what I must do..._

"Go on..."

"That's it, fucker. We're all over the place. Kill me if you want, but you ain't making it out of here alive, asshole."

"Sounds like a reg'lar jam-boh-ree! Well... Since I'm in such a good mood, I guess I'll give you a ten second head start to get out of my sight... The surroundings are in your favor, what with it being night and all."

Jon lowered his weapon, and shrugged. The Wardoog stood up and tilted his head in confusion.

"...Thanks, I guess..."

"One..."The Wardog turned to run, but instantly felt pain in his left kneecap. Oddly enough, right after he heard the familiar sound of cracking gunpowder. The round had, naturally, spiraled out of the weapon's barrel at some nine-hundred feet per second, and found home in the man's leg. It soon decided, however, that this property was unfit, and therefore tumbled about while taking the liberty to shatter the bone more or less completely, and emerge from the other side in a shredded exit wound. The Wardog fell to the ground in pain, and was screaming various obscenities while clutching his new injury with both hands, rolling about like a baby on fire.

"You see, I failed school, mon-amie... So I only know two numbers... One and Ten... So that means: 'Ten'. Oh, and do disregard the fact that I used the world 'two' there, m'kay good buddy?"

Jon pocketed his smoking pistol, drew his switchblade, and slowly walked over to the helpless man.

On the other side of the zoo, Vincent and Hiro stopped.

"Did you hear that?" Vincent asked.

"Sounded like a gunshot..."

"Just great... They have fucking guns..."

Hiro didn't know what to think of the guy... Sure, he was a convict, so his first logical reaction was to not trust him.

_On the other hand, this guy may be able to help me bring this fucker down... With McNeil on my side, I should be able to get a warrant for his arrest in a few days... Shit, if I live that long..._

Vincent tended to do most of the work, with Hiro sitting on the sidelines, muttering in disgust at the horrible acts of violence Vincent was dishing out on the various psychopaths that decided to call the zoo their home. In the past fifteen minutes, they had run into three. Sadly, none of them were carrying anything special aside from cigarettes, drugs, and other odds and ends that would help them the slightest in surviving the night.

As they turned the corner, they noticed there was a man attempting to blend into his surroundings with camouflage. Thankfully, it appeared the man wasn't aware of constantly looking from the left to right like a security camera, and was concentrating all of his attention on a little door off some twenty feet away.

Vincent reached into his pocket and pulled out the blue grocery bag they had found only moments earlier, and quietly approached the man. Hiro knew that if he even made the slightest noise, the two of them would be dead. 

Right as they reached the man, Vincent raised the bag up and pulled it over his head. The man tried to scream, but it was muffled by the plastic entering his mouth and slowly suffocating him. Vincent tightened the bag, and quickly tied the ends of it in a knot before spinning the man around. The clang of metal hitting concrete filled the area as the man's machete hit the floor and bounced some feet away.

To Hiro's horror, Vincent began to beat the man, hitting him in the face over and over again before throwing the man to the floor, and curb stomping him.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Hiro exclaimed. "What the FUCK is wrong with you?!"

Vincent glared at Hiro, looking slightly shocked at Hiro's protests.

"What? What the fuck did I do?"

"What the fuck did you do?! You beat the man and curb stomped him!"

"He had to die quick! Suffocating him would have taken to long. His cheery buddies could have shown up in that time!"

"You didn't have to beat him and curb stomp him you fucking psycho!"

Vincent swung at Hiro, hitting him just below the left eye, spinning him around and sending him to the floor.

"Don't you ever fucking call me psycho, you hear me?!"

Enraged, Hiro didn't bother standing up. Instead, he grabbed the chain linking them together, and pulled on it hard causing Vincent to fall, smacking his head hard on the concrete. He groaned in pain.

"Fucking asshole! I should kill you right now!" Hiro snapped back.

Shaking his head in pain, Vincent sat up, glaring at Hiro.

"The fuck is your problem?! Starkweather wants these bastards to die in the most horrificly brutal way we can imagine! We give him that, there's a good chance of surviving the night, asshole."

"So you're all of a sudden willing to give in, and act like a psychopathic lunatic."

"Do you want to die?! I sure as FUCK don't!"

"Don't you have any morals?! Don't you feel bad?!"

"Of course I do! Before today, I have never killed a single person in my life! I've avoided it! But the only WAY for us to survive is to temporarily play by this assholes rules. We fuck up, we die! So don't go fucking questioning my actions when it's saving our lives!"

"Fuck you, psycho!"

"Psycho?! You're just calling me that 'cause I'm an ex-con! If we're going to base our opinions on our careers, and jump to conclusions, then I have the perfect right to call you a psycho!"

"Oh, really? Pray tell, why is that?"

"How many innocent people have you killed in the line of duty, _officer_? How many people have reached for their cell phones, or wallets, and got shot by your itchy trigger finger? How many times have you planted evidence? How many fucking times have you pulled a black man over just cause he was black? How many times have you beat that black man with your night stick?!"

"Not once!"

"Exactly my point! Just 'cause some cops are fucked up, doesn't mean all are! The same applies here! So stop calling me a psychopath, god damnit!"

"...Fine... We'll play your way, for now..."

_**Crack.**_

The two of them turned around towards the direction of the noise.

"Shit." Hiro whispered.

"See what you've done?"

"Fuck you!"

Vincent slowly and quietly bent down and picked up the man's machete.

"When I say so," Vince said, "we head for that door over there? Got it?"

"Yeah..." 

Nothing... There wasn't any noise... Just the wind... No movement either... Not that they could tell, anyway. It was as dark as it could be.

"Now!" 

The two of them darted south, heading towards the door. Sure enough, they heard foot steps and slightly muttered voices. It was unclear how many people there were, but with two men, one being unarmed, they were most likely out numbered.

A soft sound was heard behind them, and something flew past Hiro's neck.

"Shit! Guns!"

They reached the room and ran inside. To their delight, half the room was dark with shadows. They both ran to a corner of the room when the footsteps stopped. Moments later, they saw two men walk in. One was carrying a rifle, while the other was carrying a machete. They didn't make a sound, which was slightly surreal. They also seemed to be communicating to each other with hand signals.

As the men searched, they slowly began to near Vincent and Hiro. It was just a matter of time. Vincent slowly and quietly raised his machete, and just as one of them neared, he struck.

The sharp blade hit the man in the lower back, causing him to wheeze and blood fly forth from his mouth. The other turned towards his injured comrade just as Hiro, who was now wielding a chair leg, attacked him. He hit the man over the head with the leg, causing him to fall to the ground. Hiro swung the blunt object down towards the man's skull when, to his surprised, the wind was knocked out of him due to the man's rifle but hiting him in the stomach.

Vincent, not noticing Hiro's plight, continued to work on his victim. Grabbing the man by the hair, he swung the blade and hit him in the side of the neck, killing him. He then ripped the blade out, and swung twice more before the head was dislodged from his body. As he turned to face Hiro, he saw that the Wardog was now trying to choke him with his rifle. Thinking quickly, he threw the severed head at the Wardog, causing him to topple off Hiro. Grabbing the closest thing to a weapon, which was a shard of glass lying on the floor, Hiro began to pound on the man's chest, spraying blood. Satisfied that the man was dead, he tossed the shard of glass to the side and stood up panting, glancing over at Vincent in the process.

"Should I now call you psycho?" Vincent smirked.

"Fine... And thank you."

Hiro bent over and picked up the rifle, glancing at it before tossing it to the side with disgust.

"What? What's wrong?"

"The fucking barrel is bent... It must have happened when we were struggling... It's a makeshift tranquilizer rifle, also... So it's not like it would do us any good."

"Fuck..."

Vincent bent over and picked up the other man's machete.

"Well, at least you now have a weapon..."

"Yeah..."

"Alright... Let's keep moving..."


End file.
